


The Littlest Warden

by Jarino



Series: Manon Tabris, Hero of Ferelden [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Attempt at Humor, City Elf, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Depression, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Grey Wardens, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecurity, Mutual Pining, Other, Protectiveness, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Smut, Vanilla, the littlest warden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 120,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4285962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarino/pseuds/Jarino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Manon Tabris’ life was forever changed the day a human noble decided to crash her wedding. After barely escaping execution by being conscripted into the Grey Wardens, a chain of events would unfurl that threatened to tear Ferelden apart. She will need to find help in any allies she can, and amidst all the chaos, she might just find someone who makes it all worthwhile. When it seems all hope is lost, perhaps it will be the littlest Warden who will save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bad Day for a Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manon has some reservations about her arranged marriage, but none of that matters when a group of human nobles crash the ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m finally going to start writing out Manon’s story. The main point of this is to flesh out her character more. This chapter is a little game dialogue-heavy, but I’ll attempt to do less of that in the future. This is the first part of the Origin story, so it’s a bit hard to avoid the setup conversation.  
> I’d be happy to hear any feedback if you have any!

The sound of muffled chatter bled through from the other room. Manon could hear the clanging of dishes, knowing full well that her father was in the midst of preparing breakfast. If it were any other day, she would be eagerly jumping out of bed, ready to eat some piping hot pancakes and explore the Alienage with Shianni. But she wasn’t a child anymore and this wasn’t any other day. She pulled the sheets over her head, hoping that she could escape from what was waiting for her. As if on cue, the door to her bedroom creaked open, and the floorboards creaked as a figure approached.

“Oh, Cousinnn…”

Manon let out a low groan and ducked further beneath the covers, but Shianni wasn’t having any of that. She gently shook her cousin by the shoulder and teased, “Come on, now, Sleepyhead. You don’t want to be late for you own wedding, do you?”

“Maybe…” she muttered.

A mischievous smirk appeared on Shianni’s face before she plunged forward and forcefully pulled the sheets off of Manon. “Ha-ha!” she exclaimed victoriously.

Manon instinctively curled up upon being revealed and tried to bury her face in her arms.

“Oh, so you’re going to be difficult, are you?” Shianni questioned slyly. “Well, then…I guess I’ll have to force you out!” She promptly jumped into the bed and began ruthlessly tickling her cousin.

Within moments, Manon was overcome with body spasms and giggle fits. “Ha-haha-Stop it! Haaa!” She squealed with a grin on her face.

“Never!” Shianni responded as she cackled evilly.

After a few minutes, the girls finally ceased their tickle fight, falling back onto the bed and laughing uncontrollably. As their giggles died out, Manon let out a soft sigh. “If only it could stay like this…if we could stay children forever and not have any worries in the world…”

Turning her head to look at her cousin, Shianni’s expression softened. “Hey, now…what’s wrong? You’re not really upset about getting married, are you?”

Manon pushed herself up so that she was leaning against the wall and pulled her legs toward her chest. Shaking her head, she answered, “No…it’s just…I’m not sure if I’m ready…”

“But you’re so lucky! Weddings are so much fun! There’s lots of dancing and drinking, and you get to wear a pretty dress!”

“Okay, then…why don’t  _you_  get married?”

Shianni snorted before playfully pushing Manon. “Pfft, yeah, right…I have to wait until I’m eighteen…like you. I’m not ready to settle down just yet.”

“See…that’s what I mean…I’ve been an adult for a while now, but it doesn’t really feel like it. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to grow up yet…”

Pushing herself up from the bed, Shianni responded with an optimistic tone, “Well, if that’s what’s bothering you…maybe you’ll change your mind when you see your groom. I’m told he’s quite the looker.”  

That comment immediately turned Manon’s face beet red. “H-hey, now…just cause we’ll be married doesn’t mean we’ll be doing that right away…” she stuttered.

Giving a sly grin, Shianni replied, “Oh? But I never said anything about that…you naughty girl.”

Springing from the bed, Manon yelled with embarrassment, “You were implying it, though!” and proceeded to smack her cousin with her pillow.

“Okay, okay! I yield!” Shianni yelped in-between her laughter. “Come on, though…Cyrion’s waiting for you. Why don’t you start getting ready?”

Letting out a deep sigh, Manon resigned herself to her fate. “Fine…I guess so.”

“Great! I’ll leave you be, then!” she said excitedly before shutting the door behind her.

Manon slowly made her way over to her dresser and pulled open the top drawer. She gently ran her hand across the silky white fabric of the dress before pulling it out and disrobing. She pulled the garment over her head, feeling the cool material against her bare skin. Once she had dressed herself, she walked over to the mirror and took a look at herself. The dress was beautiful; it was long and elegant and draped from her shoulders graciously. The long sleeves were covered in delicate embroidery patterns. It was far fancier than anything she had worn before. She ran her fingers through her short reddish-brown hair, wondering if she ought to remove the numerous childish pigtails that adorned her head. For as long as she could remember, she and Shianni had worn the same hairstyle, just one of the signs they were more like sisters than cousins. After contemplating it for a long while, she came to the decision that there was no need to change her hair. It was fine the way it was and if her fiancée didn’t like it, then he would just have to deal with it.

Reluctantly, Manon opened the bedroom door and nervously approached her father.

“M-Morning…” she mumbled.

The man whose hair was rather grey turned around to face his daughter. As he spoke, his eyes were clearly filled with pride. “Ah, my little girl…I suppose it’s the last day I’ll be able to call you that, isn’t it?” He glanced to the side before adding solemnly, “I just wish your mother could have been here…”

“I do, too,” Manon said with remorse.

Cyrion closed his eyes and nodded for a moment before attempting to lighten the mood. “Well, I suppose it’s about time for you to go meet up with Soris. The sooner this wedding the starts, the less chance you two have to escape.”

Manon gave a half-hearted laugh. “Yes…that would certainly be a shame, wouldn’t it?” Despite her reservations, she headed out the front door and began the search for her other cousin. Luckily, it didn’t take too long to spot him. She could see him leaning against a building near the center of the alienage. As she made her way over to him, he noticed her, as well, and promptly gave a friendly wave. Once she was within earshot, he began with a sarcastic remark,

“Well, if it isn’t my lucky cousin? Care to celebrate the rest of our independence together?”

Letting out a giggle, Manon replied, “Well…I’m not sure how much longer that’ll last…We’ve got, what? Five minutes?”

Soris let out a laugh in response. “Oh, man, what are you nervous for? Apparently your groom’s a dream come true…” His enthusiasm faded quickly before he added, “My bride sounds like a dying mouse.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s nice,” Manon offered optimistically.

“Great. I’ll spend the next fifty years with a “nice” girl who hides grain away for the winter…” He let out a brief sigh. “Well, let’s go find your betrothed…you might as well introduce yourself before you say “I do”.”

The pair began walking toward the designated site. The butterflies in Manon’s chest were particularly lively. She had no idea what to expect. Sure, everyone had told her that his name was Nelaros, that he was a blacksmith from Highever, and that he was supposedly handsome, but that didn’t tell her anything about  _who_  he was. Did he have a sense of humor? What if he was controlling? What if…?

“Nervous?” Soris asked, cutting off Manon’s previous train of thought. Surprised, she quickly turned to look at him before hesitantly gazing at the ground.

“A bit…I mean, I have so many questions…Like what if he doesn’t like me?”

Smiling, Soris put his hand on her shoulder. “That’s impossible. I’ve never met a soul who wasn’t instantly taken by you.”

Manon’s face turned pink at the comment. She was always embarrassed about being complimented, but it did help put her mind at ease a little.

The location of the party was now in sight and as the two approached the group of people, Shianni spotted them and began waving eagerly. However, the moment they got closer, Manon noticed a human man appear behind one of the bridesmaids. He reached out a hand in an attempt to grab her by the waist, but the moment he grabbed her, she managed to break free and instantly made a dash for Manon and Soris, crying out in fear. The loss of his victim didn’t seem to bother the human too much. He stepped closer and two other men followed, clearly making their presence known.

“It’s a party, isn’t it? Grab a whore and have a good time!” he exclaimed with a sadistic laugh to follow. He then turned to his companions and continued, “Savor the hunt, boys. Take this little elven wench, here.” He gestured to Shianni. “So young and vulnerable…” The smirk on his face was enough to make Manon’s skin curl.

“Touch me and I’ll gut you, you pig!” Shianni declared sharply.

One of the groomsmen, a scrawny man whom Manon had seldom seen, spoke out against the disruption, “Please, my lord! We’re celebrating weddings here!”

“Silence, worm!” The man spat as he walked over and slapped the groomsman clear across the face. Everyone gasped as he fell to the ground and some of the bridesmaids nearby shrunk back in fear.

Manon couldn’t let this happen. She was terrified, too, but she couldn’t let this human harass her people, especially Shianni. Soris could immediately read her intentions and put out an arm in front of her in an attempt to stop her.

“I know what you’re thinking, but it might be better if we not get involved. These look like nobles.”

Manon looked at her cousin in disbelief. How could he say that? Did he really think they should just sit back and do nothing? “Shianni will get herself killed!” she whispered angrily in protest.

“Fine, but let’s try to be diplomatic, shall we?” he whispered back with mild frustration.

It only took Manon a few steps before the human noticed her presence. He immediately began making his way over to her. “What’s this?” he questioned with a slimy voice. “Another lovely one come to keep me company?”

His entire presence disgusted her and she was terrified of what might happen, but she managed to gather her courage. “Y-you need to leave. Please…” she said with a determined, but shaky voice.

One of the men in the background immediately let out a laugh, “You hear that Vaughan?”

Vaughan scoffed in return. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

It was at that moment that Shianni was eyeing the buffet table. There was a fairly large bottle of wine sitting right on the edge. Right as the man took a step closer to Manon, Shianni grabbed the bottle and immediately swung it across his head. He let out a grunt of pain before falling to the ground as the shattered glass and wine collected around his unconscious body.  

The two human lackeys quickly ran up to him before one of them cried out, “Are you insane?! This is Vaughan Kendells, the Arl of Denerim’s son!”

“What?” Shianni exclaimed with horror. “Oh, Maker…”

Manon frantically looked between Shianni and the humans and knew how bad this could turn out if they didn’t figure out something quickly. “L-Look…things got out of hand…” she said in a desperate attempt to reconcile her cousin’s actions.

“You’ve a lot of nerve, knife-ears. This’ll go badly for you,” the other human threatened before he and his friend picked up Vaughan and began to carry him out of the Alienage.  

As the men carried the Arl’s son away, Shianni stepped over to Soris and Manon, nervously rubbing her temples. “Oh, I really messed up this time…”

“Don’t worry!” Soris piped in with forced optimism. “It’ll be alright. He won’t tell anyone an elven woman took him down.”

Shianni gave a half-hearted chuckle in response. “I hope so…” She glanced down at herself and noticed a bit of wine that had splattered onto her dress during the scuffle. “I should get cleaned up…” She shyly excused herself and as she made her way back to Cyrion’s house, two people unknown to Manon approached her and her cousin.

“Is everybody else alright?” Soris asked as the young man and woman neared the two.

The woman had a quiet demeanor and spoke with a soft, raspy voice, “I think we’re just shaken…what was that about?”

Soris gave a forced laugh in an attempt to lighten the mood. “It seems the Arl’s son started drinking too early…” He cleared his throat before attempting to change the subject. “Um, well…let’s not let this ruin the day. This is Valora, my betrothed.” He gestured to the gentile young woman, and Manon gave a friendly nod and promptly introduced herself in turn. As soon as she finished uttering her introduction, the wheels began to turn in her head. The tall man that stood beside Valora was likely her betrothed. She slowly panned her gaze to look up at him and her heart skipped a beat. She had no idea what to expect out of this arranged marriage, but the moment she laid eyes on him, her doubts began to fade away. He was much younger than she had expected, likely in his early twenties, and he had beautiful pale brown hair.

“Y-You must be Nelaros…” she stuttered, the heat in her cheeks intensifying.

He gave a warm smile before speaking in a pleasant voice, “I am a lucky man to be so warmly welcomed.

Soris could sense Manon’s tensions dissipating by the second, and realized it would be fine if he left the two alone. “I uh, I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss…” He held out his hand to Valora and guided her and himself away from the impending conversation.

Despite the disappearance of her initial fears, Manon wasn’t quite sure she wanted to be left alone with Nelaros just yet. She attempted to swallow a lump in her throat as he made an effort to make small-talk. “Well, here we are…are you nervous?” While the sentiment was simple enough, Manon could clearly sense that he was genuinely worried about her.

She giggled softly before replying with a sympathetic smile, “I wish I could say I wasn’t…I feel a little better after seeing you, though.” Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, hearing herself say those words aloud. “And how are you holding up?”

Nelaros answered with a nervous laugh of his own. “I thought I’d stay calm, but seeing you has made me…” He met her gaze briefly before sharply turning away, his face reddening. “Well, let’s just say I’m not calm…”

Manon attempted to break the ice by asking about his trip from Highever, but they’d barely started a conversation when Soris tugged at her arm. “C’mon, Cousin…we should let them get ready…” he said through a forced smile and gritted teeth.

As the two fiancés politely excused themselves, Soris leaned closer to Manon’s ear. “Don’t look now, but we may have another problem,” he muttered in a low voice. “Another human just walked in…Could be one of Vaughan’s or just a random troublemaker.”

Manon glanced over at the human Soris was referring to. He was dark-skinned and looked to be in his mid- to late- thirties. He wore an impressive suit of armor, but he didn’t seem like a city guard. In fact, he seemed a lot more peaceful than most of the shems that bothered visiting the Alienage.

Soris continued his train of thought, “Either way, we need to move him along before someone does something stupid.” He had a point. Even if this human didn’t plan on causing trouble, some of the drunken elves might pick a fight with him, and that would only end badly for those in the Alienage. They made their way over to the man, and as they got closer, he did something particularly surprising.

As he greeted them, he gave a small bow. “Good day. I understand congratulations are in order for your impending wedding.”

Manon was genuinely amazed at his behavior. She hadn’t had much interaction with humans before, but on all previous occasions, they had either been abusive like Vaughan or just flat-out rude, spitting slurs at her people. For him to formally address her like this was entirely unexpected. Still, the Alienage was no place for him. She needed to convince him to leave.

“Thank you…but I believe it would be best if you leave. We’d like to avoid any further unpleasantness.”

The man chuckled briefly. “And what manner of unpleasantness might you be referring to?”

“The Alienage just isn’t a good place for humans to be…”

He nodded briefly, but did not deter from his position. “I’m sorry, but I have no intention of leaving.”

This was the longest Manon had spent talking to a human before. She was beginning to feel like she might not be successful in convincing him, but she had to stay firm. “I’ll ask once more, politely, please leave…”

He chuckled once more. “She keeps her composure, even when facing down an unknown and armed human. A true gift, wouldn’t you say, Valendrian?” As he spoke, Manon noticed that the Elder had made his way over to the group.

“I would say the world has far more use of those who would know how to stay their blades.” As always, he spoke with a voice filled with wisdom. He gave a soft smile before continuing, “It is good to see you again, my old friend. It has been far too long.”

Manon gazed at the two men in shock. “You know this human?”

Smiling once more, Valendrian gestured to the man. “May I present Duncan, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.”

Manon tilted her head to the side. She had never heard of the Grey Wardens before, but from how the Elder spoke, it seemed as though they were important. “What’s a Grey Warden?” she asked curiously.

“They are a great order of warriors, child, sworn to protect our world from the darkspawn.”

Darkspawn…Manon could have sworn she’d heard of those, at least, but she couldn’t quite place what they were. Before she could interject with another question, Valendrian continued, “But my question remains unanswered. Why are you here, Duncan?”

Switching to a tone that conveyed great urgency, he replied, “The worst has happened: a Blight has begun. King Cailan summons the Grey Wardens to Ostagar to fight the darkspawn horde alongside his armies.”

“Yes, I had heard the news…Still, this is an awkward time. There is to be a wedding – two, in fact,” Valendrian said as he gestured to the pair of elves.

Duncan nodded seriously. “So I see. By all means, attend to your ceremonies. My concerns can wait for now.”

“Very well.” The Elder turned to Manon and Soris. “Children, treat Duncan as my guest. And for the Maker’s sake, take your places.” He was clearly scolding them, as if calling them children wasn’t enough. They were both eighteen already, and about to be married off. Still…it’s not as if Manon could really complain. She still felt rather awkward feeling being in the threshold of adolescence and adulthood.

Heeding the Elder’s advice, Manon let out a sigh before heading back towards the stage. As she and her cousin climbed the steps, Valora seemed incredibly eager to be in Soris’ presence once more. “Oh, Soris! There you are! I was afraid you’d run off…”

He gave a chuckle that was more sincere than Manon would have expected. “No, I’m here…with Nelaros’ blushing bride in tow.”

As Manon stepped next to Nelaros, he looked down at her, smiling. “Wow…you look radiant…”

She smiled sheepishly, staring at the ground as she felt the blood rush to her face. This was it. She was really doing it. From this moment on, she was officially going to be an adult. She was going to be a wife…The whole idea made her head spin.

The Elder and a revered Mother from the chantry made their way toward center stage as they prepared to begin the ceremony. Valendrian spoke before the crowd with a bold voice, “Friends and Family…today we celebrate not only this joining, but also our bonds of kin and kind. We are a free people, but that was not always so. Andraste, the Maker’s prophet, freed us from the bonds of slavery. As our community grows, remember that our strength lies in commitment to tradition and to each other.”

He turned to the Mother, giving her the floor. “Thank you, Valendrian”, she said as she stepped towards the couples. “Now let us begin.”

She began to deliver her speech, which had something to do with the Maker overseeing their bonds of matrimony, but Manon was too focused on something else. Behind the Mother, she noticed a couple of familiar faces and gasped. Soris politely interrupted the Mother, pointing to the uninvited guests that were hastily making their way towards the stage. It was Vaughan and his men. Only this time, he brought more than just his friends. He’d brought several armed guards.

“M’lord? This is…an unexpected surprise,” she uttered.

Vaughan paid no mind to the formality of the ceremony, and even went so far as to push a young boy who was unlucky enough to stand in his way.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mother,” he replied in a condescending tone, acting as if he were being inconveniencing at best. “But you see…I’m having a party, and, uh, we’re dreadfully short of female guests,” he explained in-between his foul laughter.

“M’lord, this is a  _wedding_ ,” the chantry Mother protested with irritation.

“Ha!” he scoffed as he approached her. “If you want to dress up your pets and have  _tea parties_ , that’s your business. But don’t pretend this is a proper wedding.” He didn’t give her any time to respond before he turned back toward the wedding and smirked wickedly. “Now…we’re here for a good time, aren’t we, boys?”

The group of men all proceeded to join in with vile laughter and crude remarks. Once their laughter had died down, Vaughan began eyeing the crowd like a predator stalking for prey. “Let’s take…those two, the one in the tight dress, and, uh…where’s the bitch that bottled me?” he sneered, searching for Shianni.

“Over here, Lord Vaughan!” one of the men yelled, forcefully grabbing Shianni by her wrists and holding them behind her back.

“Let me go, you stuffed-shirt son-of-a-!” she shouted, desperately trying to free herself.

“Oh, I’ll enjoy taming her!” Vaughan snickered maliciously. His attention didn’t remain on Shianni for long, however. He quickly turned toward Manon and muttered seductively, “And see the pretty bride…”

Manon let out an audible gasp and took a step back. She desperately wanted to rescue Shianni and the others, but she couldn’t find herself able to move her legs. Nelaros swiftly stepped in front of Manon, shielding her protectively. “Don’t worry, I won’t let them take you…”

Vaughan paid Nelaros no mind. He pushed him out of the way without much effort and stood directly in front of Manon. “Ah, yes…what a well-formed little thing.” His voice was like acid in her ears. She’d never been so frightened before.

“You villains!” Nelaros cried out as one of the Lord’s men held him back from interfering.

“Oh, that’s quite enough.” Vaughan dismissed him without a second thought. When he continued speaking to Manon, however, his flirtatious tone had been replaced with one of impatience and irritation. “I’m sure we want to avoid further…unpleasantness.”

Manon was trembling. She could only imagine what these men intended to do to her and the others, but if she didn’t at least try to stand up for them, she could never live with herself.

“Take me, but let the others go!” she blurted out, her eyes wide with desperation.

Upon hearing her request, the Arl’s son belted out a cruel laugh. “Just you? That wouldn’t make for much of a party, now would it?” He took a step back, reveling in his position of power. “Oh, we are gonna have some fun…” he muttered sadistically before one of his men stepped forward and hit Manon with great force. She barely had time to register what had happened before she fell to the ground. She only managed to hear a few gasps and pleas for mercy before she faded into unconsciousness.


	2. The Littlest Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Warning: Rape mention and slight gore]
> 
> Manon and several other women were kidnapped by the Arl's son. She must find a way to escape and save the others before it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re finally done with the Origin story!

“Maker keep us, Maker protect us. Maker keep us, Maker protect us…”

The prayer Manon heard was distant at first, but the voice gradually got louder, pulling her back to reality. Her head was pounding, but she couldn’t recall what would have caused it.

“Stop it, you’re driving me insane.” Manon recognized the sharp tone of irritation as Shianni’s.

That’s right! Shianni! She and the others had been captured by Vaughan. She let out a groan as her eyelids slowly opened. The other women rushed over to her as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, rubbing her head.

“Oh, thank the Maker you’ve come to…” Shianni uttered softly. “We were so worried.”

Manon looked around at the women that surrounded her. She had been knocked out by one of Vaughan’s men, but what about the others? Did he hurt any of them while she was out?

“Is everyone alright?” she asked worriedly as she glanced around the room.

“We’re scared, but unharmed…so far,”Valora said meekly. “They locked us in here to wait until that…bastard is ready for us.”

Manon let out a sigh of relief. At least the others were alright for the moment. She frantically began to look around the room. It appeared to be a storage closet of some sort. No windows of any kind, and the door was likely locked and guarded. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her head, Manon pushed herself onto her feet and began searching the nearby area. If they could just find  _something_  to use as a weapon, they might stand a chance of escaping.

Sensing what Manon was up to, Shianni placed a hand on her shoulder. As Manon turned back to look at her, Shianni shook her head. “I already checked the place top to bottom…there’s nothing here, unless you know how to gut a shem with a wooden spoon.”

The dark-haired bridesmaid was still huddled in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth as she repeated her prayer to the Maker. As Shianni shook her head in aggravation, one of the other bridesmaids offered her input on the matter. “Look, we’ll…do what they want, go home and try to forget this ever happened.” She uttered the words through gritted teeth, despising what it meant they would have to do.

“She’s right…it’ll be worse if we resist,” Valora mumbled.

 “It’ll be worse if we  _don’t_!” Shianni barked in protest.

Manon alternated her gaze between the women, unsure of which stance to take. She knew that Shianni was right; they had to do everything they could to get out of here. But not only were they unarmed, none of the others were trained in combat like Manon had been. They wouldn’t stand a chance.  As much as it pained Manon to even consider the idea, if they obeyed the humans, they might at least be able to survive the ordeal.

While Manon was in the middle of deliberating the idea, several audible footsteps began to approach the door.

“Someone’s coming!”

“If you see an opportunity, take it,” Manon muttered under her breath. It wasn’t very good advice, but she couldn’t come up with anything better given the circumstances.

The wooden door swung open and several soldiers filed in. “’Ello, wenches…” the guard purred. “We’re your escorts to Lord Vaughan’s little party…”

The bridesmaid who had been praying nonstop got on her feet and declared boldly, “Stay away from us!”

Without hesitation, the man unsheathed his sword and swung it through her in one swift motion. She fell to the ground, blood gushing from her throat. She gurgled on the liquid before her eyes rolled back into her head and she choked out her last breath. Manon brought her hands to her face and backed away in horror, wide-eyed. It had happened so fast. They killed her. She hadn’t even tried to fight. She reacted the way anyone in her position would have.

“You…killed her!” the other bridesmaid breathed with shock.

“I suppose that’s what happens when you try teaching whores some respect,” the man said with a despicable smirk. Upon asserting his dominance, he wasted no time in issuing orders to the rest of the soldiers. Manon didn’t even hear what he was saying. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the girl’s body. She didn’t even know her name…yet here she was, lying cold before her.

“You two, bind the last one.” Suddenly, her attention was back on the present situation. She quickly looked up at the two men and shrank back in fear. She took a few steps back, pressing herself against the brick wall in the hopes of distancing herself from them.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be perfect gentlemen…”

She didn’t believe him. How could she, after what she had just witnessed?

“Be a good little wench or you’ll end up like your friend here.”

Though she was already backed into a corner, Manon attempted to press herself back further, seeking solace in the solidity of the walls. “Please…don’t hurt me…” she squeaked.

The men both began chuckling. “Oh, man, look at ‘er. Vaughan was going on about taming that feisty one, but he’s missing out on this one. She’s so fucking vulnerable.”

“Don’t worry…so long as you do as we ask, we ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Lies. They had already hurt her, and were about to do much worse to her and the others.

As the men approached, Manon bit down on her lip, trying to fight back the tears.

“Uh…hello?”

Manon jolted up with a start as she recognized the friendly nature of the voice. It was Soris. He had come to save her. He was holding a sword in his right hand, but where on Thedas could he have gotten it?

The guards turned around with perplexed but amused expressions. “Oh, look at this! A little elfling with a stolen sword.” They moved toward him with the intent of teaching him some manners, but as they did so, Soris swiftly took the sword and slid it across the floor, between the pair and towards Manon.

She looked down at the sword in shock, but only for a moment. The opportunity she had so desperately yearned for was here in front of her. She could make these men pay. Resolving herself to fight, she quickly grabbed the sword and the men turned to face her. “Oh, sod…” one of them muttered as they realized their fate.

Gritting her teeth, Manon charged forward, impaling the first man through the stomach. The other moved as if to grab her, but Soris pulled him back by the shoulders as Manon withdrew her sword. In one quick motion, Soris threw the man to the ground and Manon raised the sword above her head before striking it through his jugular.  

Once she was sure the men were dead, Manon let the sword drop to the ground. It let out a clang as she, too, dropped to her knees, panting. Soris was at her side in an instant.

“Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Manon gave him a weak smile. “I’m fine…But we need to find the others before…” Her eyes darted toward the fallen bridesmaid.

Soris followed her gaze and gasped. He rushed to the woman and checked for any signs of life. “They…I can’t believe they killed her.” His eyes darted back to Manon as he realized the urgency of the situation. “C’mon, we should get moving…Nelaros is guarding the end of the hall. We’ll figure this out after we meet up with him.”

“Nelaros is here?” Manon breathed with astonishment. She had no doubts that Soris would come for her; like Shianni he was more of a sibling to her than a cousin. But even though she’d only just met Nelaros, he apparently cared enough to come rescue her and the others. She regathered her resolve and picked up her sword as Soris grabbed another weapon off one of the fallen guards.

The pair quickly made their way from the room to the kitchen. “Through here,” Soris whispered. As they entered though, they were immediately stopped by a human.

“What’s this?!” he barked angrily. “I don’t recognize you, elf! Wait…is that blood?” Manon briefly glanced down at herself and noticed just how much of a mess she looked. Her sleeves were covered in blood from the guards she’d just taken out and her dress was frayed at the edges. She nervously looked back up at the man, but before she could attempt to bullshit some sort of excuse, a frying pan came out of nowhere and knocked him upside the head.

The elven man responsible for the action took a step forward and gave a knowing look at the two. “You’ve no idea how long that shem’s had it coming.”

“Thank you!” Manon gasped excitedly.

The man held up a hand to stop her from thanking him further. “No need for thanks. It was my pleasure.” He gave a cheeky smile before introducing himself. “I’m Adwen, the cook’s assistant. You’re one of the girls they brought in, aren’t you? They took the others to Lord Vaughan’s room. You should hurry. He’s not…gentile…with women.” The way he tripped over the word ‘gentile’ made Manon all the more anxious to rescue the others. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he continued. “I’m getting out of here before the storm hits.” He quickly ran off, and it wasn’t as if Manon could blame him. He worked in the estate and therefore couldn’t get into any more trouble. Plus, in her eyes, he’d already helped them plenty.

She turned her gaze back to Soris, prompting him for directions and he guided her through the kitchen toward the dining room. Once again, though, they were halted from progressing further.

“Where did you get a weapon, elf?” one of the guards spat, gesturing to the swords she and Soris were wielding.

Manon let out a sigh before briefly scanning the room. No elven servants to come to their rescue, but there were only three men. Might as well get this over with quickly. She made the first move and Soris promptly followed suit. It didn’t take long for them to fell the guards, and as soon as they had, Soris quickly ushered Manon to the opposite end of the room.

“Nelaros’s right around the corner here,” Soris said hurriedly, forgetting his caution and picking up his pace.

Manon had no sooner rounded the corner when she witnessed the guard from before taking his sword and slicing it clean through Nelaros’ body.

“No!” she cried out, her voice cracking.

“See? I told you there’d be more,” the guard proclaimed self-assuredly. “Elves run in packs, like  _rodents_.”

As tears streamed down Manon’s face, her face quickly contorted from one of shock and desperation to unforgiving rage.

“Should we keep the knife-eared  _bitch_  alive?”

“They killed our boys. She dies.”

She couldn’t kill them fast enough. She paid no mind to the injuries they inflicted on her in the process. She had to make them pay for killing Nelaros. Once she was sure they were dead, she hurriedly ran to Nelaros and knelt beside him.

“I…I’m so sorry…” Soris uttered, distraught.

“He…he died to save me…” Manon hiccupped. She gently placed a hand over his eyes and closed his eyelids. She had been so uncertain about this marriage, but in the short time she’d known him, Nelaros had proven himself to be loyal, through and through. She continued to stare at him with pained eyes, wishing there was something else she could do for him. And that was when she noticed the crossbow he had been wielding.

She recalled the first time her mother had trained her in weaponry. Though Manon had grasped the basics of sword fighting, it was clear how uncomfortable she was with close-range combat. Her mother picked up on this and placed a different weapon in her hands in response. ‘This is a crossbow,’ she had said. ‘It’s easier to fire than a regular bow and it will let you keep your distance in a fight.’ She had smiled so gingerly, her scars wrinkling with the contours of her face. ‘You are a fragile flower, Manon, that much I know. But I hope that I can pass this knowledge to you so that you can keep yourself and others safe. You do not need to be a vicious warrior like me to be strong.’

Manon slowly ran her hands along the ash wood of the crossbow and carefully pulled it from Nelaros’ grasp. She adorned the quiver of bolts to her waist and pushed herself onto her feet, glancing at Nelaros one last time.

She closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. When she opened them, her gaze had hardened significantly. “Let’s go,” she muttered with a raspy, but determined voice.

Picking up on her shift in attitude, Soris promptly took the lead again and began guiding them to Vaughan’s room.

“This is it, I’m sure of it.” He pushed the door open and Manon followed, right on his heel.

“My, my…what have we here?” It was that slimy voice again. That arrogant noble. His tone was almost enough to break her resolve, but not quite.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make quick work of these two.”

“Quiet, you fool!” Vaughan snapped. “They’re covered with enough blood to fill a tub. What do you think that means?”

Right as Manon was about to answer his rhetorical question, she took notice of a small figure laid across the floor. The moment she turned her gaze toward it, her heart stopped beating. Shianni lay sprawled across the floor, naked and covered in bruises. She stared up at the ceiling, her eyes void of emotion, though it was obvious she had been weeping not long beforehand. The sight was too much for Manon to bear. These men had made Shianni suffer. Her eyes filled to the brim with rage as she snapped her gaze back to Vaughan.

“You’re dead,” she declared with a hoarse voice. It was a fact, not an option. There was no room for argument here. He was a dead man.

Seeing the bloodlust in her eyes, Vaughan quickly tried to back his way out of the situation. Typical noble. “All right, let’s not be hasty here…surely we can talk this over?”

“Manon…” The small whimper drew Manon’s attention back to Shianni. “Please…just get me out of here…I want to go home…” The desperation in her eyes broke her heart. She needed to comfort her cousin; needed to help her forget the horrors she had just endured.

She gave her a warm smile and said softly, “Don’t worry, Shianni…I’m going to put an end to this. Just wait a little longer, okay?” The moment she finished speaking to Shianni, she turned her sharp gaze back to the despicable human.

“Think for a minute…” Vaughan said, still attempting to persuade Manon. “Kill me and you ruin more lives than just your own. By dawn, the city will run red with elven blood.”

Manon couldn’t care less. He had hurt Shianni. That was the only reason she needed to kill him. She pulled her crossbow close to her face, taking aim. As Vaughan realized what she was doing, his eyes widened in fear and he moved his hand to his sheath in an attempt to grab his sword. Manon was too fast for him, though. She pulled the trigger and the bolt shot straight through the young Lord’s eye. He let out an agonizing scream and dropped to the floor, writhing in pain. As he desperately tried to pull the bolt from his eye socket, Manon leapt at him and struck her sword into his shoulder. While she attacked Vaughan, Soris did his best to keep the two other goons off of his cousin. Not breaking eye contact with Vaughan, Manon gripped the hilt of her sword with both of her hands and sharply twisted it. Vaughan let out yet another shrill cry and gasped for breath.

“You piece of shit knife-ea-!” he sputtered, but Manon wasn’t about to let him finish. She pulled the blade from his shoulder and raised it above her head before stabbing him in the heart. He let out a few more exasperated noises and thrashed around before his heart finally stopped beating.  

Soris’ timing couldn’t be more perfect. He finished killing the other men just as Manon was completing her revenge.

“He…He’s dead. Oh, Maker, this is not going to go well for us, but…” he glanced back to Shianni. “We didn’t have much choice, did we?”

Manon was silent. She just slowly shook her head in response.

Letting out a sigh, Soris continued, “I…I’ll go check over there for the others…Shianni needs you right now.”

Manon swallowed the lump in her throat and quickly got to her feet. She pulled one of the sheets from Vaughan’s bed and draped it around Shianni protectively. She was trembling uncontrollably.

“Please…don’t leave me alone,” she said between sobs.

“Shh…I’m here, Shianni. I’m not going anywhere,” Manon told her softly as she embraced her cousin.

“So much blood…I-I can’t stand to look at it…it’s everywhere.” She closed her eyes in pain, trying her best to rid the images from her mind before she looked up to Manon expectantly. “You killed them, didn’t you? You killed them all?”

Giving a small nod, Manon forced a smile. “Like dogs, Shianni.”

Relief washed over Shianni and a pained smile appeared on her face. “Good…” she breathed.

——

The group of elves was lucky enough to not draw any suspicion as they made their way back to the Alienage. But they had barely stepped foot past the gate before Valendrian was upon them, bombarding them with questions. Manon and Soris somberly explained everything that had happened. Valora was on the verge of tears and was clinging to Soris’ arm, her lower lip quivering.    

After hearing their explanation, the Elder closed his eyes pensively and nodded slowly. “I see…Would the rest of you ladies please take Shianni home? She needs rest.”

Valora nodded in response and grabbed Shianni’s hand, guiding her back to Cyrion’s house.

Once they were out of earshot, Valendrian let out a sigh and began shaking his head in exasperation. “The Arl’s son…dead…”

“The Garrison could already be on their way,” Duncan piped in with a stern tone. “You have little time.”

Manon and Soris exchanged glances. “What should we do?” she asked nervously.

If it was discovered that they were guilty, they would most likely be executed for their crimes. But if they stayed silent, then Vaughan’s previous threat of committing mass homicide might come true after all.

“The guards are here!”

Apparently they wouldn’t have much time to come to a decision, after all. The pair of red-headed elves turned apprehensively towards the gates.

“Don’t panic…” Valendrian offered in an attempt to subdue their fears. “Let’s see what comes of this…”

A group of guards filed in, armor clanging rhythmically.

“I seek Valendrian, Elder and Administrator of the Alienage,” the Guard-Captain announced. As he approached the Elder, Valendrian attempted to interact peacefully, but the Captain wasn’t having any of that. “The Arl’s son lies dead in a river of blood that runs through the entire palace! I need names and I need them now!”

The lump in Manon’s throat was becoming increasingly more difficult to swallow. They hadn’t attracted any attention during their return trip, but there was always the chance that someone might have spotted them or that evidence of another kind was left behind. If that were the case, then staying silent would just make matters worse for everyone. Manon didn’t want to put Soris at risk, let alone the entire Alienage, so she took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“It was me,” she stated with a low voice.

The man gave her a questioning look, scanning her petite frame from top to bottom. “You expect me to believe that  _you_ , a single elven woman, did all of  _that_?”

Shit. Of course they wouldn’t believe that. There’s no way she would have been able to do it without Soris. She quickly tried to come up with some other excuse, but her train of thought was cut off by Valendrian.

“We are not all so helpless, Captain.”

The Captain mulled the idea over momentarily before accepting it. “Very well…You saved many by coming forward. I don’t envy your fate, but I applaud your courage.” He turned to the crowd that had gathered and, raising his voice, declared, “This elf will wait in the dungeons until the Arl returns. The rest of you, back to your houses!”

As the residents began to disperse, Duncan approached the guard. “Captain…a word, if you please.”

“What is it, Grey Warden? The situation is well under control as you can see.”

“Be that as it may, I hereby invoke the Grey Warden’s Right of Conscription. I remove this woman into my custody.”

Manon’s eyes lit up at his words. She was going to be spared! She would have to remember to thank this human later.

“Son of a- Very well, Grey Warden…I cannot challenge your rights, but I will ask you of one thing. Get this elf out of the city.  _Today_.”

And with that, the dispute had been settled. The soldiers filed out of the Alienage as quickly as they had entered. But the consequences were only just beginning to dawn on Manon. The Warden had saved her life by conscripting her, but now she would have to leave the Alienage, the only home she’d ever known. As Duncan approached her, she looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“I realize that I am asking you to give up your life here and fight for a cause you know little about, but I would like you to know that I am very impressed by what you did today. You did what you had to do to accomplish your mission. We need people like you.” He placed a friendly hand upon her shoulder. “Now, please…say your goodbyes. I’m afraid we will have to depart soon.”

Manon nodded reluctantly before stepping towards Soris. As she looked up at him, he felt his heart break.

“Oh, cousin…” He let out a loud sigh before pulling her in for a hug. “I’m sure gonna miss you…” He released her and forced a smile. “You know…it’s funny. Whenever the three of us always played as kids, you were always the hero…We didn’t even have to fight over the role. You just took it up naturally.” He let out a solemn chuckle. “And…today, you…you were a real hero…”

“What are you talking about, Soris?” She smiled weakly. “I was just another damsel in distress…”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe for the first half of it all, but you were the one that took charge…you saved Shianni. You killed Vaughan. You carried yourself like a hero…like a Grey Warden.” He shook his head and furrowed his brow. “Now’s your chance to really become a hero of legends. Make us proud.”

She pressed her lips together firmly in an attempt to fight the inevitable tears. She nodded repeatedly, knowing that if she said anything more, she would just end up an emotional wreck.

Once she had finished her goodbyes to Soris, she ran back to her house as fast as she could. Cyrion was waiting in the doorway upon her arrival. As she approached, he stared at her for a long time before bringing a hand to his face.

“If…this is what the Maker has planned for you, then…I guess it’s for the best.” His eyes drifted to the ground momentarily and his voice began to falter. “Your mother would have been pleased…Joining the Grey Wardens is a great honor.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Manon to choke back her tears. “I love you…” she uttered, her voice cracking.

That was when the tears began streaming down Cyrion’s face. He pulled her close and didn’t let go for a very long time. She didn’t want him to. When he finally broke their embrace, he wiped the tears from his face. “Take care, my girl. Be safe. And wise. And…well, you know. We’ll all miss you.”

She gave her father a kiss on the cheek and a somber smile before entering the house and making her way towards her bedroom. Shianni sat on the bottom bunk, staring at the ground.

“Shianni…” she said softly.

“Manon…” Shianni looked up to her cousin and rose from her seat. “You…you saved me…and you took the responsibility for everything all by yourself…” She smiled and shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

The words of praise forced Manon to turn her gaze to the floor, though she was more upset than flustered. “Shianni…I-I’m not special, I…did what I had to. He-that  _monster_ , he…he hurt you and-and Nelaros, and I…I had to…” She looked back to her cousin, the tears in her eyes on the verge of spilling over. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get there in time…I’m no hero. But…”

Shianni was hugging her within moments. “You’re right…you’re not a hero, you’re  _my_ hero.”

And that was her breaking point. All the tears Manon had been holding back came out at once. She was weeping like a child and struggled to breathe properly in between her cries. “I love you, Shianni…I’ll always love you,” she sniffled.

“And I love you.”

Once her tears had stopped falling, the two parted and Shianni gave a gentile smile. “Make us proud out there. They’re going to write  _legends_  about you, I just know it.”

Her eyes red and puffy, Manon gave her a mournful smile. “Yeah…I can see it now.” She let out a half-hearted giggle. “The Littlest Warden will save the day.”


	3. His Name is Alistair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having been recruited into the Grey Wardens, Manon arrives at Ostagar and meets a friendly new face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well…I managed to avoid game dialog in the beginning of this chapter, but I kind of sunk back into it near the end… :/  
> Oh, well…at least you get to meet Alistair and Morrigan!

The trip from Denerim to Ostagar was long and arduous, though it was not the distance that bothered Manon. In all her life, she had seldom wandered outside the Alienage, and in the few instances that she did, it had always been within the city of Denerim. Up until now, it had been her entire world. The moment she and Duncan stepped outside the city gates, she couldn’t help but gasp in amazement at all the sights.

There was grass that lined the paths, a richer green than the small patches that managed to grow in the Alienage. Mountains loomed in the distance beneath the expansive blue sky. And the trees- Maker, she’d never seen so many trees in all her life. Her father had told her stories of the Dalish, who supposedly lived in the woods, but she had always had a difficult time picturing what a forest might look like. Whenever she’d attempted to envision it before, she tried to imagine the tree in the center of the Alienage mass-produced, but she somehow knew that wasn’t anything close to the truth. As she and Duncan passed the Brecilian Forest, she realized just how little she knew about the outside world. There were so many types of trees! Some were fairly tall, others were barely able to scrape her knee, and some…some were  _huge_! They towered towards the sky, threatening to rip it open. She craned her neck back as she looked up at the behemoths, nearly toppling over on several occasions.

They passed many more sights along the way. Babbling brooks with fish jumping out of the water to catch insects, wide fields of grass where deer grazed peacefully, and steep cliffs that begged to be climbed were just a fraction of what they encountered. At each new sight, Manon ached to stop and explore the area, to fully experience these new ideas and try to comprehend them. But in each instance, Duncan hurriedly ushered her along like a child, and she was forced to return to the path.

As they traveled further, Manon made less of an attempt to give into her curiosities and instead had more time to reflect on her thoughts, which is where the trouble began. At first, she had been so amazed by all these new sights. They were so much grander than anything in the Alienage. But as time passed, it occurred to her why Duncan was rushing her through it all. Of course, they were pressed for time and had a duty to return to Ostagar, but she soon began picking up on the subtlety of his behavior. He had lived in this world far longer than she, and in that time, had the chance to fully experience these wonders. To him, they were something that simply existed; not something to revel in the presence of. She was simply  _wasting time_  by being amazed by it all. He didn’t have time to entertain her desires. After all, she was just a simple Alienage elf.

Of course, this was not what Duncan thought, but Manon had latched onto the idea and allowed herself to become distressed because of it. She was quiet for the rest of the trip, and seldom made an effort to communicate with Duncan for fear that she would just make herself out to be even more of a fool.

When they finally reached Ostagar, Manon attempted to resist her urge to stare in awe, but couldn’t help herself. The pillars and columns were just so  _large_. The palace in Denerim was nothing compared to this. It was amazing that people could have created such colossal structures. Surprisingly, Duncan seemed to have no qualms about her childish amazement here. In fact, she could have sworn she saw a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

As the pair walked beneath another archway, a figure clad in armor approached them.

“Ho there, Duncan!”

Manon’s gaze snapped from the mighty stone walls to the man that the greeting had come from. A young man with long, golden hair in his mid-twenties walked towards them with a few guards following behind. He stretched out his hand for a handshake and Duncan took it with surprise.

“King Cailan! I didn’t expect-”

“A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun.”

Duncan let out a small chuckle. “Not if I could help it, your Majesty.”

The king. He’d said king, right? Manon stared apprehensively at the man before her. If what they were saying was true, then the most powerful human in all of Ferelden was standing right before her.

“The other Wardens told me you’d found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?” Cailan looked at her curiously as he gestured to her, which made her jump slightly.

“Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty.”

The king rolled his eyes briefly before cutting the Warden off. “No need to be so formal, Duncan. We’ll be shedding blood together, after all.” He once again turned his attention to Manon and gave her a warm smile. “Ho there, friend! Might I know your name?”

Manon struggled to form proper words. The king was speaking directly to her! He had asked for her name! Despite her reservations about nobility, she had to try to be respectful. “M-Manon, your Majesty,” she said softly.

“Pleased to meet you!” he chimed. “The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I, for one, am glad to help them.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I see you’re an elf, friend. From where do you hail?”

“Um…Denerim Alienage, your Majesty.”

“Tell me, how is it there?” he asked with genuine curiosity. “My guards all but forbid me going there.”

She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to tell him of the poverty her people faced. Of the rats that ran through the streets. Of the cramped quarters in the apartment complex. She wished to explain in full detail the discrimination they faced from the city guards and the slurs shouted by the populace through the Alienage gates. Instead, she focused on one particular problem; the one she’d experienced firsthand.

“If you must know, your Majesty, the Arl’s son recently raped my cousin.”

Needless to say, he was taken aback by her comment. “I…what?” he breathed with astonishment.

“Your Majesty, I would not have put it so bluntly,” Duncan piped in. “But there are events in Denerim you should be aware of.”

“So it seems…” Cailan shook his head, still attempting to process the information. “I will hear more about this matter later, but for now we have a war to attend.” Turning his gaze to Manon, he returned to his friendly tone of voice, “Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks.”

Manon couldn’t help but give a small smile at his remark. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

He was the first human since Duncan to greet her so politely, and to top it all off, he was her king. He seemed like a genuine man, one that Manon could trust. If he was truly going to take her concerns to heart, then perhaps there was hope for her people after all.

“I hate to cut this short, but Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies,” Cailan said with a pout that amused Manon greatly. “I’m afraid I must go before he sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens.”

As he and his guards departed, Duncan gave a curt nod, and Manon lifted her right fist to her heart as she gave a small bow. Once he had disappeared from sight, Duncan turned to Manon and motioned for her to follow him.

“Feel free to explore the camp as you wish. All I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it’s time to summon the other recruits.”

“How will I know where to find him?” she questioned.

“Oh, trust me…” he chuckled. “Just follow the trail of sarcasm and you’ll find him soon enough.”

The pair stopped just before the bridge before he continued, “Until then, I have business I must attend to. You may find me at the Grey Warden tent at the other side of this bridge, should you need to.”

She gave a small nod and watched him depart before taking off to explore the camp.

As Manon made her way through the camp, she passed various soldiers in the midst of training. She tried to see if any of them might be Alistair, but it was difficult for her to try to pick him out from Duncan’s vague hints alone. While she was contemplating what her next step might be, the sound of barking caught her attention. It came from across the clearing. As she neared the origin of the barks, her face lit up and she quickened her pace. She ran up to the fence and peered into the corral.

“Are those mabari?!” she questioned excitedly.

There were several war hounds in the kennel, each panting and wagging their tails happily. Manon had never seen one in person, but nevertheless she had always adored the creatures. She once owned a stuffed mabari that her mother had made for her. She’d named it Truffles and had lent it to Shianni when she first moved in with her family to try and comfort her.

The kennel master gave a nod. “Yes, indeed. I train only the finest war hounds this side of the Frostbacks.” He glanced at the corral briefly before furrowing his brow. “I am having a bit of trouble, though…one of my dogs is a bit ill. The poor thing bit a darkspawn and is suffering quite a bit.”

Manon turned back to the kennel and noticed a tawny ball shivering in the back corner. Her eyebrows creased in concern. “That’s awful! The poor thing…” she said, her voice heavy with sympathy.

“Are you one of the Wardens? If so, you might be able to help me…there’s a white and red flower that grows in the wilds. If you can get it for me, I should at least be able to ease his suffering.”

The wilds? Manon wasn’t entirely sure what such a place would be like, but if it meant curing the poor creature, she would gladly venture there. She smiled and nodded in response.

“Thanks…I appreciate it.”

“Oh!” she added, remembering her current task. “By the way, I’m supposed to be looking for a Warden named Alistair…have you seen him?”

The kennel master gave a small chuckle. “Yeah, he just came through here. He went through there not long ago.” He pointed in the appropriate direction and Manon thanked him before setting off to follow the trail.

As she rounded the corner, she could clearly hear an argument in process.

“What is it now?” a voice said with irritation. “Haven’t Grey Wardens asked enough of the Circle?”

“I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage,” a young man replied with hesitation. “She desires your presence.”

“What her reverence ‘desires’ is of no concern to me. I am busy helping the Grey Wardens – by the King’s orders, I might add!”

The young man’s lips quickly spread into a smirk. “Should I have asked her to write a note?”

The mage’s eyebrows lowered in aggravation. “Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!”

“Yes…I was harassing  _you_  by delivering a message.” His voice oozed with sarcasm. This must be who Duncan was referring to, then.

“Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must.” As he walked away from the Warden, he nearly ran into Manon. “Get out of my way, fool!”

Manon raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner as she watched him depart before returning her attention to Alistair.

“You know…one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.” The words poured from his mouth like honey, as though this tone of humor came naturally to him.

Manon stared at him for a moment, trying to figure him out. Every human she’d met until now had been so  _serious_. Even the king, who was clearly optimistic and friendly, had greeted her and Duncan quite formally. This man was much more…nonchalant in how he approached others.

“You are a very strange human…” she thought aloud.

He let out a small laugh in response. “You’re not the first one to call me strange. Wait…we haven’t met, have we? I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage.”

“No, we haven’t met. You must be Alistair.”

“And that makes you Duncan’s new recruit, I suppose? Glad to meet you,” he said with a grin. “As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” She gave a small smile. “My name is Manon.”

Alistair snapped his fingers and pointed at her eagerly in response. “Right! That was the name!” He began scratching his chin pensively. “You know, it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?”

It was true; from the moment Manon had entered Ostagar, she’d noticed the incredibly thick amount of testosterone that hung in the air. She’d just assumed most soldiers were male, though she wasn’t really fond of that premise. She decided she’d have a little fun with this man, though. He was the first person since the Alienage who seemed to like a good joke.

“You want more women in the Wardens, do you?” she teased with a smirk forming on her face.

“Would that be so terrible? Not that I’m some drooling lecher or anything. Please stop looking at me like that.”

Manon couldn’t help but giggle at his answer. This human was quickly making an impression on her. She wouldn’t be opposed to spending more time with him.

As the pink faded from Alistair’s cheeks, he let out a small cough before attempting to change the subject. “Anyhow, whenever you’re ready, let’s head back to Duncan. I imagine he’s eager to get things started.”

Manon was about to agree, but recalled her previous curiosity about the argument she had just witnessed. “That little…discussion you were having earlier…what was it about?” she inquired.

“With the mage?” He let out a brief sigh. “The Circle is here at the king’s request and the Chantry doesn’t like that one bit. They just  _love_  letting mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position. I was once a templar.”

The way he hesitated in saying it, Manon realized there was some meaning behind his words that she wasn’t quite getting. “Um…quick question. What’s a templar?”

“You don’t know?” he asked, confused. Apparently this was common knowledge to most folk. “Quick version, then. The Chantry tries to control mages because they’re dangerous, so they keep templars that train to hunt down and kill apostates…That’s what I was being trained as when Duncan recruited me six months ago.”

“I see…” In the Alienage, the topic of magic seldom came up. She could recall a few times in her life when children started to exhibit magical gifts and were quickly whisked away, but it wasn’t a very common occurrence, so she never really thought about the details involved, such as who was taking them, or where.

She cleared her throat momentarily before continuing. “Well, then…I suppose we should go meet Duncan?”

“Indeed. Lead on, if you would!”

His enthusiasm caused Manon to laugh once more before the pair set off to find the senior Warden.

When they approached the campfire that Duncan stood beside, there was already another pair of individuals gathered around him.

“You found Alistair, did you? Good. I’ll assume you’re ready to begin preparations.” He directed his gaze to the blonde Warden. “Assuming, of course, that you’re quite finished riling up mages, Alistair.”

“What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army.”

Alistair’s comment warranted a giggle from Manon, which was cut off by Duncan throwing her a stern look. She looked to the ground in response, attempting to suppress her smile, though it tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Shaking his head, Duncan attempted to return them to the matter at hand. “Allow me to introduce the other new recruits.” He gestured to the two men that stood beside him. “This is Ser Jory, a Knight from Redcliffe.”

“How do you do?” The balding man was tall and bulky, but seemed rather kind.

Manon gave him a smile and nodded in return.

“And this is Daveth, another recent recruit from Denerim,” Duncan added.

“I’m Manon. Pleased to meet you.”

He acknowledged her with a silent nod before Duncan continued his train of thought. “Now, then…since you are all here, we can begin.” He glanced at the group to make sure they were paying attention, and then proceeded to give them their instructions. Once they had gone over all the details, the group set off for the wilds.

——

Any training her mother had given her could never have prepared Manon for the darkspawn. She doubted anything could have. They were vile, horrible creatures that should only exist in nightmares. Such monstrosities shouldn’t be allowed to walk among the living. But she managed to persevere. At the very least, their situation amused her. She was so tiny compared to the three men that accompanied her. And while they rushed ahead into battle, she maintained the rear guard, picking enemies off at a distance. It was almost as if they were her personal bodyguards.

Gradually, they collected the vials of darkspawn blood that they required, and Manon was even lucky enough to find the flower that was meant to heal the sick mabari. All that was left now was to find the Grey Warden treaties.

When they reached the location of the archive, however, the scrolls were nowhere to be found. As Manon shuffled through the chest, hoping to find some clue as to where they might have gone, an ominous figure descended a nearby staircase.

“Well, well…what have we here?” she questioned with a coy tone. The four pairs of eyes turned to watch her approach them. “Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?”

The two women stared at each other for a long while, eyeing one another carefully. Manon wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. To say she dressed strangely would be an understatement, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was an enemy. Perhaps she truly was curious as to why they were intruding upon her territory.

“What say you, hm? Scavenger or intruder?” Manon’s train of thought was cut off by the woman’s demand. She decided to remain neutral, for the moment at least.

“I am neither. The Grey Wardens once owned this tower.”

“’Tis a tower no longer. The wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse.” She took a few steps closer to the group. “I have watched your progress for some time. ‘Where do they go,’ I wondered. ‘Why are they here?’ And now you disturb ashes that none have touched for so long…Why is that?”

Alistair stepped to Manon’s side and muttered into her ear, “Don’t answer her. She looks Chasind and that means others may be nearby.”

“Oh!” the woman exclaimed, feigning shock. “You fear barbarians will  _swoop_  down upon you?” She raised her hands into the air for extra emphasis.

Eyeing her suspiciously, Alistair replied, “Yes… _swooping_  is bad…”

“She’s a witch of the wilds, she is!” Daveth called out. “She’ll turn us into toads!”

“Witch of the Wilds?” she repeated condescendingly. “Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?” She turned her piercing golden eyes to Manon. “You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

Manon paused for a moment. For someone who lived outside of civilization, this woman was being particularly courteous. Perhaps she ought to return the favor.

“I am Manon. It is nice to meet you.”

“Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the wilds. You may call me Morrigan.” She cocked her head to the side and continued, “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?”

“Here no longer?” Now it was Alistair’s turn to mimic. “You stole them, didn’t you? You’re…some kind of sneaky…witch-thief!” he sputtered.

“How very eloquent,” Morrigan taunted. “How does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them.”

“I will not, for ‘twas not I who removed them.” She hesitated for a moment as she found the words to properly defend herself. “Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened.”

“Then who removed them?” Manon inquired.

“’Twas my mother, in fact,” she stated very matter-of-fact, as if this sort of thing happened often.

“Could…you take us to her?”

Morrigan’s mouth morphed into a slight smirk. “Now there is a sensible request. I like you,” she purred.

“I’d…be careful if I were you…” Alistair said with hesitation. “First it’s ‘I like you’…but then _Zap!_  Frog time.”

“She’ll put us all in the pot, she will! Just you watch.”

Daveth’s rant about witches was beginning to grow tiresome for Manon. Alistair’s suspicions were at least a little warranted, but Daveth’s apprehension was getting a little ridiculous.

“If the pot’s warmer than this forest, it’ll be a nice change,” Jory said sharply. It seemed he shared Manon’s annoyance.

Morrigan gave a slow nod of acknowledgement before turning on her heels. “Follow me, then, if it pleases you.”

In a short amount of time, the group approached a small, shabby hut, reminiscent of something out of a storybook.

“Greetings, Mother. I bring before you four Grey Wardens who-”

“I see them, girl,” the elder woman replied curtly. “Hmm…much as I expected.”

Morrigan’s mother seemed unassuming enough. She wore ragged robes like most peasants, her hair was thin and grey, and her face bore wrinkles that showed her age and wisdom. However, there was something…off about her. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself, or maybe it was the look in her eyes that made her seem…so much older than she appeared.

“Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?” Alistair asked skeptically.

“You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide…either way, one’s a fool!” Her voice was like sand; the words fell from her mouth smoothly and without hesitation, but each emphasis she made was rough in contrast.

“She’s a witch I tell you! We shouldn’t be talking to her,” Daveth muttered under his breath.

“Quiet, Daveth!” Jory sneered through gritted teeth. “If she’s really a witch, do you want to make her mad?”

The woman snickered in response. “There’s a smart lad…” She eyed the group, slowly panning her gaze across them. “However, whether or not you believe such tales is irrelevant. You did not come here to discuss wild stories. You came for your treaties, yes?” She made her way towards the shack. “And before you begin barking, your seal wore off long ago. I have protected them since.”

“You-!” Alistair started with an accusatory tone, but dropped it as the words’ meanings settled in. “Oh…you protected them?”

“And why not?” she asked defensively. “Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realize!”

“And what do you mean by that?” Manon challenged, her brow furrowing.

During their trip, Duncan had explained to her the threat of the Blights, and why the upcoming battle at Ostagar was so crucial. It seemed like he was fully aware of what was at stake, so the old woman’s statement greatly confused Manon.

“Either the threat is more, or they realize less _._  Or perhaps the threat is nothing!” she exclaimed, letting out a hearty laugh. “Or perhaps they  _realize_  nothing!” She continued to laugh wickedly at her own comment.

Once her laughter had died down, Morrigan was content to dismiss the group of Wardens, but her mother insisted upon being hospitable. “Do not be ridiculous, girl…these are your guests.”

“Oh…very well…” Morrigan sighed. “I will show you out of the woods…”

As they headed back in the direction they came from, Manon stole a glance over her shoulder at the old woman. There was something about the way she was watching them leave…Her eyes followed their every move. It was almost as though she were a predator stalking her prey.

Manon attempted to dispel the idea from her mind as they made their way back to camp.


	4. In Death, Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manon finally learns about the sacrifices Grey Wardens must make when she undergoes her Joining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not very happy with this chapter, but it needed to be written. I was debating whether or not to include the Battle of Ostagar or not, but eventually decided it would be better to start the next chapter with it.

Once the group of recruits had returned to camp, Manon excused herself momentarily to finish her quest of healing the mabari. She made her way back to the kennels and approached the dogs’ trainer, revealing the flower.

“Ah! That’s it! That’s the flower I needed!” he shouted gratefully. “Thank the Maker…I was beginning to think the poor thing wouldn’t make it…” He glanced at the corral momentarily. “He has been a bit skittish ever since the illness took him, though. He hasn’t let me get close to him. Would it be too much trouble for you to help put this muzzle on him? I’m afraid I can’t administer the poultice unless he sits still…”

“Yeah, of course,” Manon replied as she took the muzzle. She glanced into the corral briefly before hopping over the fence. The various dogs glanced at her curiously, wondering if perhaps she had food for them. She smiled at them feebly, attempting to ignore them and focus on her current task. As she approached the tan mabari who was huddled in the back corner, he lowered his ears and let out a low growl as a warning. This didn’t deter her, however. She crouched down next to the dog and gave a sincere smile. “Don’t worry, boy…I’m here to help you.”

He stopped growling, and instead began whimpering, attempting to sink back from her. She stared into his large brown eyes and did her best to show him her intentions. “I wanna help you, but you need to let me help you first…” she said softly as she gently placed her hand on his head.

Slowly, he relaxed under her touch and gazed up at her, tilting his head to the side. After a minute or so, he got up and stepped away from the fence, getting closer to Manon. He sat down beside her and looked at her expectantly. ‘Go ahead,’ he was saying.

She smiled at him once more before affixing the muzzle to his face. “It’ll be alright,” she whispered. She ruffled the fur on his head before pushing herself onto her feet and exiting the corral. The kennel master made a great effort to thank her for her help, but she made every effort to deny his praise. “I just did what anyone would have done!” she claimed, quite flustered.

After she finally escaped the clutches of the kennel master, she returned to the group of Wardens and they continued back to the campsite that Duncan was stationed at.

As they neared the campfire, he took notice of their presence. “I see you’ve returned from the wilds. Have you been successful?”

Manon nodded briefly before pulling out the vials of darkspawn blood they had collected, while Alistair handed over the treaties.

“Good,” Duncan stated as he accepted the trinkets. “The Circle mages have been preparing in the meantime. With the blood you retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately.”

“Why exactly did we need to get darkspawn blood for this ritual, anyway?” Manon questioned.

Duncan’s gaze hardened a bit and he looked to the ground briefly before finding the words to properly answer. “I will not lie. We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later.”

His words did little to comfort Manon. If anything, they made her more apprehensive of what was to come.

“Let’s go, then,” Daveth blurted out impatiently. “I’m anxious to see this joining now.”

Giving a solemn nod, Duncan murmured, “Then let us begin…” He slowly turned to Alistair and added in a grim tone, “Alistair, take them to the old temple.”

Once they had reached the temple, Jory wasted no time complaining about the situation. “The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it,” he muttered as he crossed his arms.

“Are you blubbering again?” The irritation in Daveth’s voice was thick.

“Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?”

“Maybe it’s tradition. Maybe they’re just trying to  _annoy_  you.”

Shaking her head, Manon stepped off to the side. She was growing rather tired of their dynamic and opted to sit out of this argument. She needed to keep her mind focused on something else; otherwise she’d be worrying nonstop about what this ritual held in store. Whatever they were meant to do, it wasn’t as if she would have much choice in the matter.

The other recruits’ bickering was cut off as Duncan approached the group. “At last, we come to the Joining…” He made his way towards a large marble table. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint.”

“We’re…going to drink the blood of those-those creatures?” Jory asked, his voice breaking.

“As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you.  _This_  is the source of our power and our victory.”

“Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint,” Alistair explained. “We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon.”

“Those…who survive?” Manon squeaked, her voice trembling slightly.

She must have spoken too softly, for the senior Warden proceeded in the ritual without answering her question. Either that or he did not wish to answer. “We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?”

Giving a nod of acknowledgement, Alistair directed his gaze to the ground and began reciting the rite, “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you.” He looked back to Duncan expectantly, who returned to the table that held the ceremonial goblet.

“Daveth, step forward,” he commanded, handing him the enormous cup.

Daveth stared at the potion briefly, hesitation just beyond his eyes, before he brought the cup to his lips and drank. He was fine for a moment, but the effects soon took effect. He began swaying side to side and retching. His hands clung to his head as he leaned forward in pain. He let out a scream of agony before he began choking uncontrollably.

“Maker’s breath!” Jory gasped, taking a few steps back.

Clutching at his throat, Daveth slowly lost his ability to stand before he finally collapsed, his life force gone.

“I am sorry, Daveth…” Duncan uttered before turning to the Knight. “We must continue. Step forward, Jory.”

Panicked, Jory continued backing away from Duncan. “But…I have a wife. A child! Had I known…” The words left him in breaths and his hand found his sword.

“There is no turning back,” Duncan stated gravely as he approached the frightened man.

“No! You ask too much,” he whimpered. “There is no glory in this!”

Duncan then reached for his own sword, preparing to strike against the resistant Jory. Their blades clashed a few times before Duncan thrust his sword into Jory’s chest, the blood spilling out recklessly. “I am sorry…” he muttered.

Manon and Alistair stared at Jory’s body in horror. Manon’s mouth hung open and she held her hands close to her chest. He…he killed him. Duncan killed him. She looked up at him fearfully as he turned his eyes on her. “But the Joining is not yet complete,” he finished.

He handed her the tremendous goblet, roughly the size of her head, and spoke to her sternly. “You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint, for the greater good.”

She stared into the liquid with a pained expression. The potion inside had just killed a man slowly and painfully, and the other was murdered in cold blood for attempting to reject it. She was still attempting to process the horrors she had just witnessed, but she knew she had no other choice. Resigning herself to drink, she lifted the cup to her mouth and took a gulp.

It burned. Maker, it burned so much. Her throat felt like fire. She attempted to swallow the taste away, but that only made it worse. Then the headache came. It was as if a voice was pushing against her skull, trying to force its way inside. She brought a hand to her forehead in an attempt to dispel the feeling away, but the voice just kept getting louder. It overwhelmed her. Her eyes rolled back into her head and her world went black.

She was alone with the pain, the unbearable agony. She desperately wanted to scream, to cry out for help. Without warning, though, the blackness gave way to a vision far worse than the misery that wrought her body. In an instant, she was transported somewhere she did not recognize. The sky was green and hazy, and she stood face to face with a large, monstrous beast. It was shaped like a dragon, but its form was almost unrecognizable. It was covered in countless leathery spikes and its flesh almost looked rotten in certain areas. With soulless eyes, it turned its gaze to her and let out a deafening roar. Her whole world shook and she desperately tried to find some strand of reality to cling to. This wasn’t real. This was a dream; it had to be.

Manon woke with a start, frantically gasping for air. She looked up to see Duncan and Alistair staring over her as she lay on the ground.

“It is finished,” Duncan uttered. “Welcome to the Grey Wardens.”

The sky had grown darker since they had first started the ritual. How long had she been out?

Alistair extended a hand to her and she took it gratefully. Her knees were still weak and she relied in his strength to bring her to her feet. Once he had helped her up, he hung his head in disbelief. “Two more deaths…In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was…horrible. I’m glad at least one of you made it through.” He met her eyes, his words holding the promise of something more.

She smiled at him sheepishly, thankful that he was looking out for her.

As Manon rubbed her temples, Duncan asked how she was feeling.

“I…” What was she supposed to say? The whole ordeal had been overwhelming. The deaths of the recruits, the pain the potion brought upon her, the vision… “Nothing could have prepared me for that…”

Duncan gave a knowing nod. “I know, and I am sorry. The Blight demands sacrifices from us all. Thankfully, you stand here as proof they are not all made in vain.”

“Did you have dreams?” Manon turned back to Alistair, who had rejoined the conversation. “I had terrible dreams after my Joining…”

She gave a small nod in response.

“Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do,” Duncan clarified. “That and many other things can be explained in the months to come.”

“Before I forget, there is one last part to your Joining. We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us…” Alistair’s gaze diverted to the side as he recalled the events that had just unfolded. “…of those who didn’t make it this far.” He reached forward and gently placed the amulet in her outstretched palm. They must have fashioned it while she was blacked out.

She lightly ran her fingers across the maroon surface of the pendant, still wondering why such sacrifices had to be made. After staring at it for a little while longer, she undid the clasp and fastened the amulet around her neck, tucking it underneath her shirt.

“Take some time. When you are ready, I’d like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king,” Duncan instructed her sympathetically, fully aware of her state of unease. “The meeting is to the west, down the stairs. Please attend as soon as you are able.”

Manon nodded ever so slightly in response and Duncan took that as his cue to leave.

Still in shock, and a little lightheaded, Manon stumbled towards a nearby platform and sat down in an attempt to clear her head. Meanwhile, Alistair felt unsure as to what action he should take. He could tell she was going through a lot. He’d undergone similar hardships in his time as a Warden, after all. But while he desperately wanted to reach out to her and comfort her, he didn’t really think it was his place to do so. They’d only just met, and he wasn’t positive she would even welcome his help. Instead, he resolved to stand next to her, hoping that his presence would be enough to ease her tensions.

It was. Or at least, it helped. Once again, Manon found herself appreciative of the Warden’s kind demeanor. Just knowing that he was there for her made her worries start to fade away.

\------

After Manon had calmed down, she made her way down the stairs toward the meeting area.

“Loghain, my decision is final.” Cailan’s distinct voice was firm in his declaration. “I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault.”

Standing next to the king was the man Manon assumed to be Loghain. “You risk too much, Cailan! The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines.”

“If that’s the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us, after all,” Cailan taunted.

“How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century,” Loghain snapped at the King. His brows were so furrowed that Manon worried his face might break from the tension.

“Then our current forces will have to suffice, won’t they?” Cailan concluded, the irritation thick on his tongue. “Duncan, are your men ready for battle?” he asked, turning to the Grey Warden.

“They are, your Majesty.”

“And this is the recruit I met earlier on the road?” His voice softened instantly upon turning his attention to Manon. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

Giving a meek smile, Manon thanked him.

“Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored to join their ranks,” he said with pride.

“Your  _fascination_  with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan,” Loghain sneered. “We must attend to  _reality_.”

A puzzled look began to spread across Manon’s face. Why was this man being so serious? No…that wasn’t it. It made sense to be serious for a battle. It was his attitude that gave Manon reason for concern. He was just so…angry…What could possibly warrant such antagonism from him?

“Fine,” Cailan stated, retreating for the time being. “Speak your strategy, then.”

The two men briefly reviewed the battle plan, albeit with some reluctance on either side. Manon attempted to keep track of it all, unsure of what part she was to play.

“Who shall light this beacon?” Cailan questioned as he stared at the map intently.

“I have a few men stationed there. It’s not a dangerous task, but it is vital.”

“Then we should send our best,” the king decided. “Send Alistair and the new Grey Warden to make sure it’s done.”

The two men turned their gaze to Manon and her face flushed from the attention.

“I-I’ll do my best, your Majesty,” she stammered.

Loghain narrowed his eyes as he noticed her hesitation. She felt a shiver run down her spine. “You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?” he questioned sardonically.

“Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain!” Cailan’s patience was quickly growing thin. “Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they’re from.”

The people gathered around the war table began getting riled up about the various tactics that were being suggested, but eventually their demands were ceased by Loghain. “Enough! This plan will suffice,” he declared with annoyance.

“Thank you, Loghain. I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!” Cailan exclaimed, his excitement like that of a young boy.

As the Teyrn departed the war table, Manon caught a glimpse of a smirk pulling at the various wrinkles on the man’s face. Something about his smile felt off, though she couldn’t quite place it…

After Loghain’s departure, Duncan motioned for Manon to follow him and set off to find Alistair. Once they located the young Warden, Duncan reviewed their tasks for the battle. “You heard the plan,” he told Manon. “You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit.”

She nodded in agreement. It was a simple enough task, but it held a lot of responsibility. Everything depended on their success. Still, Manon was grateful that she had been given such an assignment. While she might have been trained in dealing with small fights, she was in no way prepared to fight in an all-out battle.

“What?” Alistair asked with disappointment. “I won’t be in the battle?”

Throwing him a confused look, Manon wondered why he was so discouraged at the premise. When they had ventured into the wilds, he had definitely been eager enough to charge into battle, but he had to understand that fighting a couple of rogue darkspawn would be different than standing against an entire army.

As Duncan made the effort to explain that this was the king’s personal request, Manon glanced nervously between the two. She wanted to try and help sway Alistair into accepting their task, but didn’t want to risk upsetting him….which was an odd notion to cross her mind, come to think of it.

Regardless, Alistair finally seemed to accept Duncan’s reasoning. “I get it, I get it…But just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”

Manon couldn’t help but snort in response. Now  _that_  would certainly be a sight. “I-I think I’d like to see that…” she said between giggle fits.

Blushing slightly, Alistair pressed his lips together and avoided looking her in the eye. “Oh, fine…for you, maybe…”

Duncan let out a low groan in response to the young Wardens’ shenanigans before attempting to bring them back on track. He proceeded to review the specifics of the plan; they needed to cross the bridge to the tower and upon receiving the signal from the Wardens in the gorge, they would light the beacon.  

After ensuring that they both understood their part in the plan, Duncan gave them a few last words of advice. “From here on, you two are on your own. Remember, you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title.”

“Duncan…” Alistair stated in a low, breathy voice. “May the Maker watch over you.”

“May He watch over us all,” Duncan replied with confidence in an attempt to dismiss Alistair’s fears.

As he left, Manon sensed that the other Warden was still quite tense. His hard gaze focused on Duncan’s back as he left, unsure of what was to come. Hesitantly, Manon placed a hand upon his lower arm in an attempt to console him. He flinched slightly at her contact, though it was more because of surprise than discomfort.

They remained like that, silent, for a few more moments before heading out on their mission.

 


	5. What We've Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain has abandoned the Wardens, but what will this mean for Manon and Alistair?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being super short...but this seemed like the best place to end it.
> 
> I think we’re nearly through the initial plot-dialog, so I should finally be able to focus more on Manon’s inner thoughts and her relationship with Alistair, etc.

As Manon and Alistair waited at their post, the already gloomy weather was beginning to fester into something more sinister. Rain had been falling for a while now, and the distant clap of thunder promised that a storm was on the way. Manon hoped that it wasn’t a bad omen for what was to come. She glanced down over the edge of the bridge at the troops lined up in the gorge. They all looked like insects from where she stood.

It wasn’t much longer before Manon took notice of something approaching from the distance. She squinted in an attempt to get a better view, but it wasn’t until more figures exited the forest that Manon began to realize what was coming.

There were only a few darkspawn at first, but as they neared the battlefield, more and more warriors spawned from the depths of the wilds. They came from every edge of the trees, spanning the length of the horizon. And as they advanced, even more darkspawn followed on their heels. Their presence was stupidly massive; they vastly outnumbered the Grey Warden forces. So this was the horde. Manon had known little about the Blights beforehand, but here, seeing the imposing strength of the enemy, feeling the evil radiating off of them, she felt she finally understood just how badly they needed to be stopped.

The two forces faced each other momentarily before the darkspawn’s leader raised its sword and rallied its troops to battle. The forces rushed forward like animals, heavy with bloodlust.

Cailan was ready, though. He first commanded the archers to fire a barrage of flame-covered arrows upon the enemy. The war hounds were released soon after, tackling darkspawn and sinking their teeth into as many as they could.

“For Ferelden!” the king finally shouted, inspiring a round of gleeful war cries from the Warden soldiers.

Dozens of men and women rushed forward, ultimately clashing with the darkspawn, blades meeting blades and flesh. Several catapults had begun firing flaming rocks at the fortress, one of which crashed into a tower just opposite the bridge that Manon stood at. Alistair shielded his gaze from the flaming inferno, but Manon couldn’t help but gawk at the sight. Having never once seen war, she couldn’t imagine the kind of things that happened on the battlefield.

As she stared at the sight, several soldiers hurriedly rushed past her and Alistair, one of which bumped into her shoulder in the process. She was a bit rattled by it, but was at least grateful that it brought her attention back to the situation at hand. She and Alistair promptly took off, sprinting across the bridge to make it to the Tower of Ishal. They had to dodge a couple of fireballs along the way, but thankfully it was mostly a straight-shot.

Once they reached the tower, however, a soldier frantically made an effort to stop them. “You’re…Grey Wardens, aren’t you? The tower…it’s been taken!”

“What are you talking about, man? Taken how?” Alistair demanded.

“The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers, they’re everywhere! Most of our men are dead!”

“Then  _we_  have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves!”

The two soldiers were hesitant at first, but nodded in agreement and the group set off into the tower. It was swarming with darkspawn. Manon could barely register time to take a breath in-between all the kills they were making.

Somehow, though, they managed to fight their way to the top of the tower. However, when they reached the top of the stairs, Alistair and the two other men skidded to a halt with Manon nearly running into them in the process. She was about to ask what the holdup was when she took notice of the large purple creature that was crouched in the center of the room.

Its massive hands were clinging to something. Manon peeked over the soldier’s shoulder in order to get a better view and gasped in response. The ogre was  _eating_  someone. Whoever they were, their body was barely recognizable now. The beast was clutching a hunk of meat that was probably a torso. Blood oozed from the corpse as it took more bites.

They didn’t avoid its gaze for long. Soon enough, it took notice of them and snorted angrily. It dropped its previous kill and got to its feet, snarling at them viciously. A combination of blood and saliva dripped from its fangs as it roared and the group prepared themselves to fight.

Manon was paralyzed with fear, though. As the others charged forward, preparing to engage the creature in combat, she found her legs unable to move. It wasn’t until Alistair yelled her name that she regained her senses. She attempted to provide support with her crossbow, though she imagined her bolts weren’t doing much damage to the gigantic beast.

Eventually, Alistair struck the final blow by piercing the ogre’s heart with his sword.

They all fell back in relief, panting heavily. There had been many close calls throughout the fight, but they persevered.

“We…We’ve surely missed the signal…” Alistair wheezed. “Let’s…light the beacon…before it’s too late.”

Nodding hurriedly, Manon limped toward the signal pyre and reached for the matches in her bag. With trembling hands, she struck the match against the bricks of the fireplace and threw it into the pyre.

The kindling quickly set ablaze and the rest of the wood followed suit. They’d done it. The beacon was lit.

And then the first arrow came. It was embedded with fire and struck Manon through her left shoulder, sending her flying backwards. She let out a scream of agony as the flames engulfed her, clawing at her skin. She desperately pulled at the base of the arrow, trying to pull it out, but she was only met with more arrows.

She heard a fearful cry from Alistair, but it was muffled…Why did he seem so far away? Her vision became blurry and the pain that had tormented her so was beginning to fade. Everything was fading away…

\------

_‘You see, Manon…one thing that the Dalish do particularly well is making a fine stew. They live off the land, so the meat is always incredibly fresh and tender. And since they travel all over the place, they get to collect all sorts of herbs and spices! Now…you know we can’t afford stuff like that, but your mother couldn’t help herself. She was lucky enough to grab some of this from the market so you could try her attempt at an old-fashioned Dalish stew.’_

Manon awoke to the smell of rosemary.

She attempted to push herself into a sitting position, but her shoulder ached in protest. Letting out a small moan, her right hand clutched her left shoulder in an attempt to ease the discomfort.

Taking notice of her activity, Morrigan approached Manon. “Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased.”

Ignoring the pain, Manon gradually became more confused as to her current situation. “Wait…what am I doing here?” The last thing she remembered was lighting the beacon, and…then the darkspawn came. “What happened to the darkspawn?”

“You were injured, and then Mother rescued you. Do you not remember?” she inquired.

“I only remember being overwhelmed by darkspawn…” She stared off into space, trying to recall what had happened.

“Mother managed to save you and your friend, though ‘twas a close call,” Morrigan explained. “What is important is that you both live.”

Manon stared down at herself briefly. She was in nothing but her smallclothes, and her left shoulder and stomach were covered in bandages. “How…how badly was I injured?” she questioned hesitantly.

Morrigan took a long pause before answering. “Rather badly. Though I expect you shall be fine. The darkspawn did nothing that Mother could not heal. However, she wasn’t able to treat that burn of yours quick enough. I expect it to leave a scar.”

Manon furrowed her brow in response and turned her gaze to the floorboards.

If only she’d noticed the darkspawn coming. She’d been so airheaded compared to Alistair, who was attentive the whole way through the tower. “Alistair!” she blurted out suddenly, turning her eyes back to Morrigan. “Was he wounded? Is he okay?”

Raising a hand in an attempt to cease Manon’s endless questions, Morrigan responded calmly. “Yes, he sustained injuries, though none as severe as yours. He is fine…in terms of physical health, at least.” She hesitated slightly, trying to figure out how to best deliver her next set of news. “The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend…he is not taking it well.”

Her eyes widened at Morrigan’s revelation. Loghain had abandoned them…Manon thought there was something off about him, but she assumed it was her imagination. She shook her head in disbelief. If everyone was massacred…then what became of the king? Of Duncan? Of the other Wardens?

As Manon held her face in her palm, Morrigan offered one last comment. “Your friend is currently outside by the fire. I fear he will create a rut from all the pacing he’s been doing. I would suggest seeing him once you are feeling up to it.” As she made her way to the doorway, she added, “Oh, and Mother also requested to speak with you, though I do not know why. In the meantime, I shall return to the stew.”  

Manon sat on the bed for a few more minutes as she tried to make sense of everything. Were she and Alistair truly the only survivors? If so, why were they spared when the others were not? She eventually decided it would be best to ask Morrigan’s mother these questions herself rather than sit here deliberating for hours. She was also anxious to make sure Alistair was truly alright.

Slowly, she scooted to the edge of the bed and got to her feet, though a shot of pain ran through her abdomen in response. Clutching her side, she gradually limped across the floor and found the robes Morrigan had laid on the chair for her.

The door creaked slightly as she exited the house. She leaned against it slightly for support and glanced upward. Alistair stood at attention, facing the marsh and staring off into the distance. His hands were balled up into fists and he was so stiff Manon worried he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden,” the old woman taunted. “You worry too much, young man.”

Hearing her comment, he spun around quickly. Upon seeing Manon, his face grew into a mixture of concern and amazement. “You…you’re alive…” he breathed in a low voice.

Hoping to lighten the mood, she tried to force a smile.

Dropping his gaze to the ground, he let out a shaky laugh that was obviously meant to mask his fear. “I thought you were dead for sure…”

Manon gave a light-hearted chuckle, but instantly regretted it when her stomach began to throb in pain. “Somehow, I survived…” Looking up at him with large, grey eyes, she added softly, “I’m…glad you were worried about me, though…Thank you.”

Attempting to avoid her gaze, he shook his head in disbelief. “This doesn’t seem real…If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother,  _we’d_  be dead on top of that tower…”

“Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad.”

“I-I didn’t mean…” he stuttered. “But what do we call you? You never told us your name.”

“Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do,” she uttered.

“ _The_  Flemeth? From the Legends?” Alistair breathed, his eyes widening. “Daveth was right…you’re the Witch of the Wilds, aren’t you?”

“And what does that mean?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow in response. “I know a bit of magic and it has served you both well, has it not?”

“So why  _did_  you save us?” Manon piped in.

“Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we?” Flemeth replied, though Manon sensed it was only half the reason. “It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?” she jabbed with a slight smirk.

Furrowing her brow, Manon met the old woman’s fierce gaze. “Do you sincerely expect two junior Grey Wardens to undo the chaos that Loghain has created?” Manon was largely unfamiliar with human politics, but she knew that the death of the king was bound to create disorder throughout Ferelden. “How are we supposed to convince anyone to unite against the Blight?” As the words left her mouth, the wheels turned in her head. “The treaties…” she uttered as she recalled their first meeting with Flemeth.

“Of course! The treaties!” Alistair exclaimed. “Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They’re obligated to help us during a Blight!”

Flemeth cocked her head to the side as she gave the two a self-assured look. “I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, and who knows what else…this sounds like an  _army_  to me.”

Turning to Manon expectantly, Alistair eagerly continued his train of thought. “So can we do this? Travel Ferelden and…build an army?”

Manon scratched her head for a moment, trying to mull the idea over. The treaties were supposedly ancient; most everyone had forgotten their ties to the Grey Wardens. Even if they showed up with them, who’s to say they would honor them? Still, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice. They were the only Grey Wardens left in Ferelden, and they needed to find some way to defeat the Blight. Besides, Alistair’s puppy-dog eyes were starting to wear down whatever was left of Manon’s hesitation.

“I suppose it’s the best option we’ve got.”

“So you are set, then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?” Flemeth questioned rhetorically. “Before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you.”

As if on cue, Morrigan came out of the hut and approached her mother. “The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have two guests for the eve, or none?” She tilted her head at the pair, implying that she would not be terribly disappointed if they departed.

“The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And  _you_  will be joining them.”

“Such a shame…” she hummed confidently, but dropped the tone the instant she processed what her mother said. “What?!”

“You heard me, girl. The last time I checked, you had ears!” Flemeth spat as she let out a low laugh.

“Have  _I_  no say in this?!” Morrigan demanded, narrowing her gaze in protest.

“You have been itching to get out of the wilds for years. Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives.”

“Not to…look a gift horse in the mouth…” Alistair said hesitantly. “But won’t this add to our problems? Out of the wilds, she’s an apostate.”

“If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower.”

“Point taken,” he responded irritably.

“Mother…this is not how I wanted this,” Morrigan stammered. “I am not even ready-”

“You  _must_  be ready. Alone, these two are to unite Ferelden against the Darkspawn. They need you Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I,” Flemeth uttered grimly.

“I…understand,” she replied with resignation.

The banter between mages and Wardens continued for a little longer before Morrigan reluctantly went to recover her belongings. Eventually, the group set off on their journey, with one goal in mind: Save Ferelden.

Perhaps it would be an impossible feat, but that just meant it would be all the more miraculous when they were finally victorious.


	6. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After setting up camp near Lothering, Alistair comforts Manon when she has her first bad dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got the chance to break away from the main script a little.  
> So of course the first thing I wrote is some Manon/Alistair fluff. :)

As the party traveled down the winding dirt road, a tawny form came bounding around the corner towards them. It didn’t take long for Manon to recognize it as a mabari. She crouched down so that she was at eye level when he approached her.  He barked at her with a sense of urgency and whined incessantly before motioning his head in the direction he came from. Following his gaze, Manon took notice of a group of darkspawn that must have been following him. She hastily pulled out her crossbow and the others followed suit with their own weapons. With the assistance of the war dog, they made quick work of the creatures.

The moment the battle ceased, the mabari padded up to Manon once more and barked excitedly as he wagged his tail.

“I think he was out there looking for you…” Alistair said, cocking his head to the side curiously. “He’s…chosen you. Mabari are like that. They call it imprinting. You should feel lucky; they’re very picky about who they choose.”

It suddenly dawned on Manon that his must have been the mabari that she helped cure back at Ostagar. So he managed to survive the ordeal! What a relief!

“Does this mean we’re going to have this mangy beast following us about now? Wonderful.” Morrigan questioned with slight irritation.

“He’s not mangy…” Alistair cooed, his face scrunching up with his baby-talk.

With a grin spreading on her face, Manon wrapped her arms around the dog’s wrinkly body and began petting him furiously. “Who’s a good boy?” she chimed, which elicited a content bark from the mabari. His leg began shaking rapidly and he soon turned over on his back so that her petting could transition into tummy rubs.

She gradually ceased petting the dog, and he took this as a sign to return to attention. He sat up and perked his ears as she tapped her chin pensively. “Hm…if you’re going to be my dog, you need a name…One that’s worthy of your fierce determination and intelligence.”

He panted eagerly as she ran through the options in her mind. Eventually, she came to a decision.

“Truffles,” she declared.

He gave a cheerful bark, signaling his approval of his new name.

Meanwhile, Morrigan rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of their current situation. “How odd that we now have a dog and Alistair is still the dumbest one in the party.”

After Truffles had officially joined their group, they set off once more and continued towards Lothering.

As they neared the entrance to the quaint little town, Alistair spoke up to announce their arrival. “Well, there it is. Lothering. Pretty as a painting.”

“Ah, so you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you?” Morrigan gibed. “Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?”

“Is my being upset so hard to understand?!” he snapped at her. “Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?”

“Before or after I stopped laughing?” she asked with a grin.

“Right…very creepy. Forget I asked.”

“You  _have_  been rather quiet, Alistair…” Manon piped in. They’d been on the road for hours since Truffles had first found them, and yet she’d hardly heard a peep from Alistair during all that time.

“Yes, I know…I was just…thinking.”

“No wonder it took so long then,” Morrigan said with a mocking tone.

Manon frowned. She liked Morrigan; really, she did, but it was just a little bit cruel of her to be picking on Alistair while he was in such an emotionally fragile state.

Luckily, her comments didn’t seem to bother him too much as he quickly countered with more quips of his own. Their back-and-forth continued for a bit longer before Alistair had had enough.

“Anyway!” he interjected. “I thought we should decide where we intend to go first.” He pulled out a map from his bag and set it out on a nearby banister, holding it down to make sure it wouldn’t blow away in the wind. “There are three main groups that we have treaties for: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi.”

Manon studied the map intently. She had briefly seen another map of Ferelden when she had traveled to Ostagar with Duncan, but she really wasn’t all that familiar with the layout of the country. Alistair pointed out their current location on the map and proceeded to indicate where Orzammar and the Circle of Magi were, as well. “As for the Dalish…” he continued. “If we head eastward towards the Brecilian Forest, we should hear word of one of the clans that wanders that area. Hopefully they’ll still be there.” He paused for a moment, allowing her to look over the map. “There is another option that we should consider, too…Arl Eamon of Redcliffe was King Cailan’s uncle, and I suspect he’d be able to help us. He’s a good man and we could definitely use his support.”

Taking everything he was saying into account, Manon stared intently at the map, mulling over all the possibilities. The Brecilian Forest was closest to where they were, but it was also huge. Who knew how long they would have to spend searching for a Dalish clan? She turned her attention to Redcliffe. Of the available destinations, it had the most southward location, meaning it was more vulnerable to the Blight at the moment. Given all these factors, she ultimately came to the decision that they should probably head to Redcliffe first.

Once they had determined a plan of action, they set off into the village. Morrigan broke off from the pair of Wardens saying she was planning on searching for supplies, but Manon wasn’t entirely sure if that was really her intention or not. She didn’t spend too much time worrying about it, though. What Morrigan did on her own time was none of her business. Her mind was more focused on her own actions at the moment. She debated briefly whether she should head off on her own to explore the village or stick by Alistair’s side. After looking around for a while, she realized she wasn’t quite ready to venture out on her own just yet. Ever since she left the Alienage, she’d been accompanied by someone else. So for the moment, she elected to stay with her companion, though it felt more like she was compelled to rather than because she made the decision to stay.

Alistair began making his way towards the Chantry, perhaps unconsciously, and exhaled when he pushed open the large wooden doors. Manon couldn’t help but feel in awe as she entered the space of worship. The space was filled with refugees who curled up near the walls, but even so, the light that filtered through the windows just made everything feel so…inspiring. The bell chimes echoed off the stone walls and gave her chills. She had never been in a Chantry before, but as she stood there, she realized why there were people who chose to devote their lives to the Maker.

Slowly approaching the statue of Andraste, Alistair gazed up at the Maker’s bride and pressed his lips together. Manon glanced up at him and noticed the overwhelming tension in his face. He must still be grieving. She turned her gaze to the floor, wondering what she could say in this sort of situation.

“Do…you want to talk about what happened with Duncan?” she finally asked.

He flinched slightly upon hearing her speak, almost as if he’d forgotten she was by his side. He shifted his gaze to her briefly before shaking his head and putting on a smile. “You don’t have to do that. I know you didn’t know him as long as I did.”

“I know, but…I could tell he was a good man.” She meant it. Though she wasn’t ecstatic about how he’d pulled her from the Alienage and she had felt intimidated by him at times, she sensed his noble spirit and knew he had the best intentions.

“I…should have handled it better,” Alistair said with hesitation. “Duncan warned me from the beginning that this could happen. Any of us could die in battle. I shouldn’t have lost it, not when so much is riding on us, not with the Blight, and…and everything. I’m sorry.”

Tentatively, she reached out and placed her hand upon his forearm, like she had done at Ostagar. “No one blames you for what happened, Alistair…And especially not for how you’ve reacted to it all. It’s only natural to mourn the losses of those we care about.”

He clenched his fist slightly and shut his eyes. “I’d…like to have a proper funeral for him. Once this is all done…if we’re still alive.” He opened his eyes and turned his gaze to the window. “I don’t think he had any family to speak of.”

“He had you.”

Alistair couldn’t help but let out a gasp at her words. There was so much empathy behind them; her concern was entirely genuine. He managed to catch the tears that were swelling in his throat and let out a cough. “I suppose he did…” he breathed. “I know it sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I was with him. In the battle. I feel like I abandoned him.”

She furrowed her brow in response. She understood how he felt, but she needed to help him realize that he didn’t need to feel guilty. “He saved your life by sending you to the tower.”

“Yes, I know…” he stated remorsefully. “I think he came from Highever, or so he said. Maybe I’ll go up there sometime, see about putting something up in his honor. I don’t know.” He shook his head briefly before his tone lightened a bit. “Thank you…Really, I mean it. It was good to talk about it, at least a little.”

Giving a tender smile, she uttered softly, “I’m glad I could help.”  

\------

Once they’d finished setting up camp, Manon fell asleep the moment her head hit her sleeping mat. They’d been traveling almost non-stop for four days, only resting for a few hours at a time. They felt the need to move as quickly as possible in order to ensure they wouldn’t be ambushed by darkspawn, but now that they were closer to civilization, they could finally take a break.

Her dreams were simple enough at the start; mostly just hazy images of things she’d encountered over the course of the day. That quickly changed, though.

Horrid imagery came slicing through her previous dream like a guillotine, setting her aback. She was transported to some sort of underground structure that seemed to go on for miles. Below her in a deep trench, hundreds of torches were held by figures she wasn’t able to make out as they marched forward rapidly. The vision became more jarring as the images began to shift from one another at a speed to fast for her to process. She was able to make out a dragon; the same one from her dream at Ostagar. It sat atop a large bridge, overlooking the horde of darkspawn that waited below. Its deafening roars overwhelmed Manon as she struggled to force the vision from her mind.

She woke with a start. In a cold sweat and panting heavily, she sat up abruptly and clutched her chest. What  _was_  that?

“Bad dreams, huh?”

She nearly jumped upon hearing Alistair’s voice and realizing that he was sitting not three feet away from her. As she struggled to catch her breath and calm her heartbeat, she could only manage a nod in response.

He gave a look of understanding and paused as he struggled to find the right words. “When I noticed you thrashing about, I knew it had to be the dreams. I figured I should be here for when you woke up…It was scary at first for me, too.”

Slowly, she looked up at him, pain tearing at her face. “Are they always this bad?” she rasped.

The look on her face tore at his heart. Maker, he wished he could just tell her it would be all right, but he knew lying wasn’t going to make anything better. “It takes a bit, but I’m told that eventually you can block the dreams out. I haven’t had much luck with that endeavor, though. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can’t.”

“The archdemon…is that the dragon?”

“I don’t know if it’s really a dragon, but yes…that’s the archdemon.”

Manon sat there in silence, hugging her knees to her chest in an attempt to console herself. She silently cursed herself for how pathetic she was feeling. She was letting a simple nightmare get the better of her…she really was no better than a child.

Alistair looked over at her with a distressed expression. He couldn’t stand to see her suffer like this. When she’d been tossing and turning and moaning in her sleep, he’d wanted nothing more than to wake her up and pull her into his arms. But he restrained himself. He knew that the dreams would only return and as much as he wanted to reach out to her, he doubted she would accept his gesture. As he watched her, though, it became increasingly difficult for him to maintain a polite distance. Eventually, as much as it pained him, he resigned himself to return to his tent. Who knew what he might do otherwise.

As he moved to leave, though, she let out a soft plea. “Wait.” He stopped in his tracks and his breath caught in his throat.

She couldn’t believe that the word left her mouth, but now that it had, there was no taking it back. Without turning to look at him, she simply uttered, “Please…stay.”

He tried not to make it too obvious how eager he was to be by her side as he sat down next to her. He reached out as if to put his arm around her shoulder, but hesitated. He didn’t know if she wanted him to physically comfort her or if she simply desired his presence. Eventually, though, he couldn’t fight his urges any longer. He took his left hand and placed it around her shoulder, pulling her close to him.

She gasped slightly, unprepared for the sudden physical contact, but she didn’t resist. She slowly allowed herself to relax a bit, and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. He couldn’t help but feel the heat rising to his cheeks and he tightened his grip slightly. She was trusting him.

In the small amount of time he had known Manon, she had seemed like such a timid girl who, while friendly enough, was hesitant to put her faith in humans. Yet here she was, seeking comfort in his,  _his_  embrace and trusting him entirely. He wasn’t about to let her down.

The two of them sat like that, unmoving, for who knows how long before they eventually drifted back to sleep.

\------

Manon felt an intense warmth against her face and her pillow seemed to rise up and down. How strange. She heard a voice “tsk-ing” at her and slowly opened her eyes in response. Looking up, she noticed Morrigan standing over her sleeping form with an amused expression.

“I’m surprised. And here I thought you had decent taste.”

Confused at her remark, Manon furrowed her brow. She heard a small groan beside her and turned in the direction of the noise. The instant she did, her face turned beet red. Alistair’s sleeping face was mere inches from her own. She scrambled back from him as quickly as possible, trying to stutter out an excuse. “I-This was…” Maker, she was so embarrassed. She had forced Alistair to stay outside and comfort her, and had ended up cuddling next to him as a result. What would he think of her now?

Her movement was enough to stir him from his slumber and he yawned softly as he stretched his limbs out. After pushing himself upward, he noticed Manon was sitting in an awkward position and staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. His expression grew puzzled and he turned his gaze to Morrigan. “What’s everyone looking at me for?” he asked hesitantly.

“Well, I don’t know  _all_  the details,” Morrigan smirked. “But from where I stand, it appears that you took advantage of your fellow Grey Warden here.”

Manon had though that her face couldn’t get any redder, but she was quickly proven wrong.

As Alistair processed Morrigan’s comment, he turned back to the distressed-looking Manon and he slowly put two- and-two together. The moment he did, his own face began to heat up. “Oh-Oh…Maker, you don’t think I-? I would never- I mean, that isn’t to say I’m opposed to the idea… Oh, wait, that sounded awful. Um…” Clearly, he was just as flustered as Manon.

“Yes, yes…” Morrigan said as she rolled her eyes. “Now, if you’re quite finished, perhaps you’d like to help pack up?”

As she walked off to disassemble her tent, Manon and Alistair met one another’s gaze briefly before quickly looking away. “I-I’ll get the bedrolls,” Manon offered, clearing her throat.

“Good idea!” Alistair exclaimed, making every possible effort to avoid her gaze.

They both scrambled to their feet and hurriedly began packing up camp, each doing their best not to look the other in the eye.

Beneath their flustered exteriors, though, secretly, they were both reveling in the realization that they had spent the night in one another’s embrace.

 


	7. Prince Charming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Warning: Slightly graphic description of Manon's injuries.]
> 
> Manon reflects on the scar she received at Ostagar. Later, Alistair reveals some shocking news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with finding the right place to end this chapter, so I apologize if it seems a little awkward.  
> I'm hoping to skip over most of the details in Redcliffe so as to get the plot moving quicker... :/

Rummaging through her bag, Manon briefly reviewed her supplies before heading down to the river. It had been days since she’d had a proper bath, and in addition to wanting to rid herself of the grime that was building on her body, Morrigan had reminded her that her injuries required constant cleaning.

During their first few days of traveling, Morrigan had helped Manon when it came to dressing the wound. She wasn’t very familiar with medicinal practices, and when she’d first removed the bandages, she had to force herself not to vomit. She wasn’t used to seeing such raw skin, much less her own. The sight made her stomach turn. Ever since, she’d requested Morrigan’s aid in the healing process, and only risked the occasional peek in an attempt to memorize the steps she was performing.

Drying cloth, clean smallclothes, healing salve, and a roll of gauze. That should be everything. She carefully wrapped everything up inside the cloth and pulled the bundle close to her arms as she exited her tent. Morrigan sat by the fire, taking the first watch shift for the night. Alistair wasn’t outside, so he must be sound asleep.

“I’m heading down to the river for a bit. I shouldn’t be too long.”

Giving a nod of acknowledgement, Morrigan replied, “Take care, then. And do not be afraid to call if you require assistance.”

Manon smiled sheepishly before heading out into the forest. She was still getting used to the idea of staying outdoors. The terrain was incredibly bumpy and there was a very fragrant scent of dirt that lingered in the air. She kind of liked it, though. It was different, certainly, but new experiences were what made this journey so exciting.

She soon made it to the calm body of water and quickly glanced around to ensure that she was alone. Once she’d surveyed the area, she set her belongings down on a nearby rock and began to strip.

After placing her garments on top of the existing pile, she carefully stepped down to the water’s edge, her toes sinking slightly into the damp earth. She slowly stretched her foot out and poked her toe into the water, testing its temperature. It was definitely cold, but not overwhelmingly so.

She took her time in stepping into the water, slowly submerging herself so as to give her body more time to adjust to the water. Once inside, she let her head sink back beneath the water’s surface, letting the cool liquid envelop her senses. She already felt so much cleaner.

Closing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath, she momentarily ducked beneath the water’s surface before resurfacing with wide, alert eyes. She had the next shift after Morrigan, and knew she needed the assistance of the cold water if she was to stay awake.

Moving slowly through the water, Manon gradually made her way to the rock on the shore. She pulled open the drying cloth and looked over the jar that contained the salve. She was about to open it, but quickly remembered that she needed to dry off before doing so. Setting the jar back down, she tentatively glanced down at her shoulder and her breath stopped.

How many days had it been since they’d been rescued by Flemeth? It had to have been at least a week. Manon recalled how awful her shoulder had looked when she’d first uncovered it. The skin was peeling badly, with several layers of scarlet flesh visible underneath. Morrigan had told her that it would leave a scar; that they hadn’t been able to treat the burn in time. But even so, Manon had assumed it would have healed more than  _this._

She’d seen scars before. Her mother’s face had been covered with them. Some were thin and only visible under direct light, while a few others cut deeper, creating new indentations in her skin. This…this was nothing like any scar she could have expected.

The skin had managed to heal over, but the impression of the flames still lay fresh on the surface. Her flesh had faded to a subdued crimson color, but it was incredibly intense in contrast with her pale complexion. Its texture was rough and unpleasant, with the skin folding in on itself in its desperate attempt to heal quickly. The mark ran from her clavicle, across the top of her shoulder cap, and ended just above her breast. Tears welled in her eyes as she tenderly poked the sensitive skin. She never wanted this. She would have been fine with a few ragged scars from an enemy’s blade or from a beast’s claws. But this. This was too much.

Manon was already so self-conscious about her appearance as it was. Despite the constant compliments and reassurance she received from her family members, she was constantly doubting her self-worth. This wasn’t helping by any means. Who would want someone like her now? Who could stand to  _look_  at her now?

She shoved her face into her hands as her body became wracked with sobs. She hated what that fire had done to her body, but she resented herself even more for worrying about such trivial things. She didn’t want her appearance to be such an important factor in her life, but it was no use. Her self-loathing was something she struggled with on a daily basis despite her best attempts to push the toxic thoughts from her mind.

Eventually, she finished shedding her tears and proceeded to exit the water and drying herself off. She carefully applied the medication and wrapped the bandages as best she could before hurriedly dressing herself and slumping back to camp.

When she approached Morrigan to relieve her of her duty, her voice was raspy and her eyes were very obviously red and puffy. Morrigan furrowed her brows in concern, about to ask if something was the matter, but Manon dismissed her. The mage stared at her for a moment longer, but assumed it would be better not to press the issue, and instead departed back to her tent.

Once again, Manon was left alone with her thoughts. Oh, how she despised moments like these. Nothing was more dangerous to her than her own mind.

\------

After several days of walking, the silhouette of Redcliffe began to come into view just over the horizon. Manon hadn’t been eager about waking up so early, but after hearing recent rumors about the Arl’s current state of health, Alistair had been insistent that they get to Redcliffe as soon as possible.

They approached the top of the hill and looked out over the village. It was a quaint little place, with the castle framing the setting in a very picturesque manner.

Manon was about to begin her descent down the trail, but Alistair suddenly leaned into her ear and muttered, “Could we talk for a moment?”

She let out a small squeak in shock. His breath was hot on her neck and the thought of him being so close to her after what had happened in camp a few days back made her dizzy. Still, she abided his request and stepped off to the side a bit. “What’s on your mind?” she asked, trying to hide the nervousness in her voice.

“I need to tell you something I probably should have told you earlier…” he said, fumbling over his words slightly.

She raised her eyebrows expectantly and tilted her head to the side, urging him to continue.

“Well, um…let’s see….How do I tell you this?” His gaze was fixed on the ground and his hands moved absently at his sides. “We’re almost to Redcliffe…Did I say how I know Arl Eamon exactly?”

“I…don’t believe so…” Manon could only recall him mentioning the Arl being Cailan’s uncle back when they were planning their course of action in Lothering.

Alistair took a deep breath before speaking. “I’m a bastard, and before you start cracking jokes, I mean the fatherless kind. My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe castle and she died when I was born. Arl Eamon took me in and raised me before I was sent to the Chantry.” He was speaking so quickly, Manon could barely distinguish the words from one another. As he kept talking, though, his speed lessened a bit. “The reason he did that was because…well…” He struggled to find the courage to continue, so he simply spoke very slowly, revealing one word at a time. “Because my father was King Maric…Which made Cailan my…half-brother, I suppose.”

Manon could have sworn her jaw landed on the ground. He’d just revealed a plethora of shocking information, but it was no surprise that one bit of information stood out among them. Alistair was the illegitimate son of King Maric? Did that mean what she thought it meant?

“Doesn’t that make you heir to the throne?” she breathed, still letting the shock sink in.

“Maker’s breath, I hope not!” he exclaimed with horror. As he considered the prospect, his fear was replaced by pessimistic contemplation. “I don’t think so…you don’t think so, do you? I’m a bastard…and nobody even knows about me.”

Seeing that the look of utter confusion on Manon’s face was not about to fade anytime soon, he began rubbing the back of his neck and sighed in frustration. “I would have told you, but…it never really meant anything to me. I was  _inconvenient_ ; a possible threat to Cailan’s rule, and so they kept me secret.” He turned his gaze to her and gave her a sheepish look. “I’ve never talked about it to anyone. Everyone who knew about it either resented me for it or they coddled me. Even  _Duncan_  kept me out of the fighting because of it.” He let out an aggravated sigh, distraught about the revelation. When he continued speaking to her, though, his voice softened and his eyes met hers, unwavering. “I didn’t want you to know as long as possible. I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t help but blush as his kind, brown eyes stared into her. His words were meant for her and her alone, and the fact that he was telling her all this filled her body with an unexpected warmth. Embarrassed that his eyes were fixed on her, she shifted her gaze to the side, though a shy smile tugged at her lips. “You don’t need to apologize.” She paused to take a quick breath and gathered her courage enough to return to his gaze, if only momentarily. “I understand why you kept quiet about it, but I’m glad you told me.”

Manon could see the relief washing over his face. “Oh, good…I’m glad,” he exhaled, expelling all his previous anxieties. “It’s not like I got special treatment for it, anyhow.”

She cocked her head to the side, trying her best not to make her staring too obvious. A prince. She never would have guessed it, but after reflecting on her time with him, it all started to add up. She could see the similarities between him and the former king, as well as the various chivalrous characteristics he’d displayed during their time together.

Alistair went on to explain his story in a bit more depth. “Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais, despite all the problems it caused with the king so soon after the war. He loved her a great deal. Anyway, the new Arlessa resented the rumors which pegged me as the Arl’s bastard. They weren’t true, but of course they existed. The Arl didn’t care, but she did. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten. Just as well. The Arlessa made sure the castle wasn’t a home to me by that point. She despised me.”

Manon creased her eyebrows in concern. “What an awful thing to do to a child.”

He pressed his lips together slightly before speaking. “Maybe. She felt threatened by my presence. I can see that now…I can’t say I blame her. She wondered if the rumors were true herself, I bet.” He paused momentarily, his mind wandering elsewhere. “I remember I had an amulet with Andraste’s holy symbol on it. It was the only thing I had of my Mother. I was so  _furious_  at being sent away, I tore it off and threw it at the wall. And it shattered.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Stupid, stupid thing to do,” he berated himself before continuing. “The Arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything. And eventually he…just stopped coming.”

Turning her gaze to the ground, Manon debated what she ought to say. “That’s…quite the story.” She lifted her head once more, a crooked smile pulling at her face. “Are you sure you don’t have any other world-shaking secrets you’d like to tell me?”

It was Alistair’s turn to smirk now. “Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. Just the prince thing,” he said, squinting mischievously.

“So…a prince then?” she teased. “Will you be riding off into the sunset on a white steed now?”

He let out a hearty chuckle at her comment. “You know… you almost make the whole prospect sound appealing.” After his laughter died out, he returned to a slightly more serious tone. “I have no illusions about my status, however. It’s always been made very clear that I’m a commoner, and now a Grey Warden, and in no way in line for the throne. And that’s fine by me…No, if there’s an heir to be found, it’s Arl Eamon himself. He’s not of royal blood, but he  _is_  Cailan’s uncle, and more importantly, very popular with the people. Though…if he’s really as sick as we’ve heard…” He stopped himself before he could continue that thought and shook his head in disbelief. “Oh, no…I don’t want to think about that. I really don’t.

“So can we move on? And I’ll just pretend you think I’m some…nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.”

A wicked grin spread across her face and she took an exaggerated bow. “As you command,  _my prince_.”

Alistair let out a low groan and brought his hand to his face. “Lovely…I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

She giggled in response and as he set off down the hill, she quickened her pace to match his, smiling at him mischievously.

\------

When they reached the entrance of the village, they were stopped by a man named Tomas who hurriedly tried to explain the horrid state Redcliffe was in. Apparently the rumors were true; Eamon was gravely ill, and if that wasn’t enough, there seemed to be monstrosities that attacked the town at night. After Alistair insisted that they try to find a way to help, Tomas decided to bring them to the Chantry to meet with Bann Teagan.

As they entered the sanctuary, which was notably much larger than the one in Lothering, Manon took notice of the numerous citizens that lined the walls. Even though this was their home, they weren’t all that different from the refugees they had encountered previously.

“Greetings, friends!” Manon’s attention was snapped back to the noble as he addressed them. “My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the Arl.”

“I remember you, Bann Teagan,” Alistair chimed. “Though the last time we met, I was a lot younger…and covered in mud.”

“Covered in mud?” A smile quickly spread across the man’s face as he realized who was in front of him. “Alistair? It is you, isn’t it? You’re alive! This is wonderful news!”

“Still alive, yes, though not for long if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it,” he stated begrudgingly.

“Indeed. Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died with my nephew, amongst other things.” His lips pulled back into a grimace as he recalled the Teyrn’s accusations. “Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don’t believe it. It is an act of a desperate man.”

Manon’s face lit up a bit and she nodded enthusiastically as the Bann vented his frustrations. Ferelden may be in political chaos right now, but if there were nobles that were willing to stand against Loghain, they would need their support in the long run.

Teagan’s eyes soon fell on Manon and he gave her a friendly greeting. “Are you a Grey Warden as well? A pleasure to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances.” He went on to describe the details of the attacks and what would be needed to be done in order to prepare for the coming battle that night. Manon and Alistair eagerly offered their assistance, though Morrigan was a bit reluctant in the matter.

The preparations went smoothly enough, and even though nightfall came sooner than expected, they were ready. They fought tirelessly through the night, but thankfully suffered minimal casualties and succeeded in protecting the town.

The next step was infiltrating the castle and Teagan appeared to have a plan. Manon just hoped that it would work.


	8. How Could You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arl Eamon’s son has been possessed by a demon and Manon is forced to make a terrible choice. Alistair believes she made the wrong one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp...another chapter with tons of game dialog...
> 
> I promise I’ll try to avoid this more in future plot-related quests.

There was a faint sound of dripping water as Manon and company made their way through the dungeons. The area seemed even more dank and dreary than it otherwise might have, which could likely be attributed to the lack of life in the castle. Though the dungeon seemed eerily quiet, the group remained wary, not knowing if the undead still lurked the halls.

When the sound of someone clearing their throat caught their attention, Manon and Alistair exchanged unsure looks. Slowly, Manon made her way toward the wall’s edge and peeked around the corner. There didn’t appear to be anyone nearby. Just rows and rows of cells. She cautiously urged the party forward, readying her crossbow just in case.

As careful as she tried to be, she hadn’t been paying attention to where she placed her feet. She stepped into a puddle, which issued a small splashing sound.

“Is someone there?” A voice called from one of the cells.

It didn’t sound like the voice of an enemy…it was too confused and frightened. Still, Manon approached warily, ready to strike if need be.  As she approached the cell, the prisoner tilted his head, a puzzled expression finding its way onto his face.

“Wait…you don’t look like the Arlessa’s guards…Are you from outside the castle?”

She looked him over carefully. From the robes he wore, he was very likely a mage. And given how he was being kept prisoner here…

“Are you the mage who poisoned the Arl?”

He let out a sigh of resignation. “I’m not proud of what I did. Poisoning Arl Eamon was what I was hired to do. Lady Isolde had no idea when she took me in to tutor her son, of course.”

“And what of the walking corpses?” she questioned confrontationally. “Are those not your doing?”

“I-I know it looks suspicious…but I’m not responsible for the creatures and killings in the castle,” he mumbled in defense. “I was already imprisoned when all that began…At first, Lady Isolde came here with her men demanding that I reverse what I’d done. I thought she meant my poisoning of the Arl.” He turned away from Manon and began nervously pacing his cell. “That’s the first I heard about the walking corpses. She thought I’d summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe. There was nothing I could do or say that would appease her. So…they left me to rot.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, Manon tried to make sense of it all. “Regardless of what’s been happening with the undead, I’m not about to forget what you’ve done to the Arl. Just  _why_  did you poison him in the first place?”  
The prisoner approached the iron bars, eyes pleading. “I was instructed to by Teyrn Loghain.”

Manon shook her head in frustration. Of course he was. That man seemed hell-bent on causing trouble for them at every turn.

“I was told that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden, that if I dealt with him, Loghain would settle matters with the Circle.” He paused for a moment, biting his lip in hesitation. “You see…I’m a maleficar; a blood mage.”

“Well,  _that_  isn’t good…” Alistair muttered under his breath.

“I…dabbled in the dark arts, and they condemned me to death for it. I thought Loghain was giving me a chance to…redeem myself,” he tried to explain. “But he’s abandoned me here, hasn’t he? Everything’s fallen apart and I’m responsible! I have to make it right somehow!” he cried with desperation.

Manon believed that he did indeed regret his actions and that he wanted to set things right, but she wasn’t about to set him free. He was naïve in his pursuit for freedom, and didn’t seem to comprehend the dangers that accompanied the powers he made use of. Sure, he might be able to help them, but there was too great of a risk that he might do something stupid and endanger them all.

“I think you can stay here for now,” she ultimately declared, walking off without another word.

He frantically called out after her, sputtering various promises of what he could do, but she shut him out, her companions quickly following suit.

 ------

There were substantially more living corpses that walked the halls once the group had passed the prisoner. Slowly, but surely, they forced their way through the castle until they finally reached the throne room. The instant they entered, Manon felt a chill wash over her. Something here was very,  _very_  wrong.

Bann Teagan was dancing around like a madman, flailing his arms around crazily and not paying much attention to his surroundings. Sitting atop the throne was a young boy, perhaps ten years of age, who was eagerly clapping at the man’s performance. His laughter echoed across the stone walls, and it made Manon shudder. That was not the voice of a child. Something else was pulling the strings.

The boy, who Manon assumed to be Connor, soon took notice of her and dismissed Teagan. He rubbed his chin and eyed her with a hint of curiosity. “So these are our visitors? The ones you told me about, Mother?” he chided.

Maker, that voice was unnatural. Did Connor even still exist, or was this creature simply walking around in his skin?

“Y-Yes, Connor…” Isolde stuttered timidly as she stood awkwardly beside the throne.

Connor narrowed his eyes as his gaze bore into Manon. “And now it’s  _staring_ at me! Tell me, Mother…what is it? I can’t see it well enough.”

“This…is an elf, Connor,” she stated with hesitation. “You’ve seen them before. We have them here in the castle…”

Manon didn’t have time to be offended by Isolde’s comment. She was too focused on the wretched words that spilled from the boy’s mouth.

“Oh, I remember!” he exclaimed, a nasty grin spreading across his face. “I had their ears cut off and fed to the dogs! The dogs chewed for  _hours_!” The laugh that erupted from his throat was positively skin-curdling. He then focused his menacing gaze upon her. “Shall I send it to the kennels, Mother?”

Her eyes widening fearfully, Manon backed away in horror and covered her mouth in an attempt to keep her nausea at bay. Not this again. Please, not this.

To her surprise, it was Lady Isolde who jumped to her rescue. “Connor,  _please_ …I beg you. Don’t hurt anyone,” she pleaded desperately.

For a moment, Manon could have sworn she saw life flash back into the eyes of the young boy. He wore a pained, confused expression, and he mumbled something in a voice that was much more suiting to his age. But just as soon as it had surfaced, it vanished. His face quickly contorted into one of rage and he violently pushed away from his mother.

“Get away from me, fool woman! You are beginning to bore me,” he snapped.

With an anguished look upon her face, Isolde turned to Manon and spoke in a low voice. “Grey Warden…please don’t hurt my son. He’s not responsible for what he does!”

Manon could only stare at the scene before her in bewilderment. “Just what in the Maker’s name is going on here?”

“Connor didn’t mean to do this! It was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon…He started all this! He summoned this demon! Connor was just trying to help his father!”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow in confrontation. “And made a deal with a demon to do so? Foolish child.”

“It was a fair deal!” Connor roared, his voice overwhelming the space. “ _Father_  is alive, just as I wanted. Now it’s  _my_  turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world! Nobody tells me what to do anymore!”

“Nooobody tells him what to do!” Teagan cackled uncharacteristically. “Noooooobody! Hahahaaa!”

Connor cut off his uncle with a biting tone before turning his leering gaze back to his guests. “Let us try to keep things civil. This woman will have the audience she seeks. Tell us,  _woman_ , what have you come here for?” he sneered.

Gathering her courage, Manon took a deep breath and stepped closer to the monstrosity. “I need to speak with Arl Eamon.”

“So you’re a concerned well-wisher. Why didn’t you say that in the first place? All this sneaking around and killing is  _so_  unnecessary.” Ignoring the hypocrisy of his words, Manon awaited what the creature would say next. “But Father is so very ill. We really shouldn’t disturb him. Isn’t that right, Mother?”

“I…I don’t think-” she stuttered.

“Of course you don’t!” he yelled, cutting her off. “Ever since you sent the knights away, you do nothing but deprive me of my fun. Frankly, it’s getting dull.” His hands curled upward, mimicking claws. “I crave  _excitement_! And action! This woman spoiled my sport by saving that stupid village, and now she’ll repay me!”

The boy quickly fled the scene after issuing his threat, and in that same instant, the guards present in the room rushed forward, attacking the party. They had no choice but to defend themselves.

Manon attempted to immobilize the guards by simply shooting bolts into their legs to limit their movement, but there were several instances where fatal blows were unavoidable. When they finally managed to incapacitate the guards, they rapidly approached Bann Teagan, who appeared to be waking up from his stupor.

As Manon helped him to his feet, Isolde leapt from her spot in the corner and hurriedly rushed to her brother-in-law’s side. “Teagan! Are you alright?”

“I am…better now, I think,” he said with slight hesitation as he struggled to recollect his thoughts. “My mind is my own again.”

“Blessed Andraste…” Isolde sobbed. “I would never have forgiven myself had you died; not after I brought you here.” She shoved her face into her hands. “What a fool I am.” She sniffled for a moment before turning her desperate gaze to Manon. “Please…Connor’s not responsible for this. There _must_  be some way we can save him.”

Manon furrowed her brows as the realization hit her. The words of appeal Isolde spewed at her were those of someone who understood the situation; not a mother who was unaware of what had taken hold of her son. “You knew about this all along,” she stated accusingly.

“I…yes,” she admitted before sighing. “I didn’t tell you because I believed we could help him. I still do!”

“Clearly the child  _is_  an abomination,” Morrigan piped in. “There is…only one way to stop it.”

Teagan shook his head mournfully before speaking. “Connor is my nephew, but…he is also possessed by a demon. Death would be…merciful,” he said gravely.

“No!” Isolde cried. “What…what about the mage? He could know something of this demon! If he still lives, we-we could speak to him!”

“He’s still down in the dungeons,” Manon offered.

“Then we should bring him here immediately. Teagan, could you find him?”

“I…will try. Though if he resists, I will not hesitate to kill him. I’ll return shortly.” He bid them farewell with a curt nod.

He reappeared not much later with the accused mage in tow.

“You’re lucky to be alive, Jowan, after all you’ve done,” Isolde jeered at him.

“I didn’t summon any demon, Lady Isolde…But I did poison the Arl.” He proceeded to hang his head in shame. “And that started all this. I’m…willing to help, if you’ll let me.” Letting out a brief sigh, he continued,” The demon in Connor needs to be destroyed. Killing Connor is…the easiest way to do that, certainly…but there is another way. A mage could confront the demon in the Fade without hurting Connor himself.”

“What do you mean?” Teagan inquired.

Jowan went on to describe the ritual he had in mind. It involved sending a mage into the Fade in order to confront the demon, thus severing its connection from Connor. But there was a catch. Given that the ritual ordinarily depended on several mages and a substantial supply of lyrium, they would have to utilize blood magic in order to proceed as planned. If it were simply a matter of morality, Manon might have considered it an option, but in this particular case, Jowan needed the entirety of someone’s life energy to act as the catalyst. In other words, if they wanted to do the ritual, someone had to die.

“Then let it be me,” Isolde asserted. “I will be the sacrifice.”

“What?! Isolde, are you mad?” Teagan reprimanded. “Eamon would never allow this!”

“Either someone kills my son to destroy that thing inside him or I give my life so my son can live. To me, the answer is clear.”

“Blood magic…” Alistair spat. “How can  _more_  evil be of any help here? Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“It  _does_  seem like a sensible choice, with a willing participant and all,” Morrigan offered.

“Connor is blameless in this. He should not have to pay the price,” Isolde said firmly, but with a clear sadness in her eyes.

“It…it’s up to you, my friend,” Teagan stated, surprising Manon.

“What?! Why me?”

“You are an outsider on the matter…you’re better suited to give an unbiased response. And it is your companion who would be entering the Fade. The decision is yours.”

“I…I can’t make that kind of decision…” she said shakily. How could she? Either they commit taboo and sacrifice the Arl’s wife to save Connor, or kill the Arl’s son in order to destroy the demon. Neither option appealed to her in the slightest and whichever one she picked would end up on her conscience.  

“I’m afraid you must make a choice,” Teagan said regretfully. “Redcliffe needs its Arl, and one way or another, the demon must be dealt with.”

Manon began furiously scratching her head. Damn it! Why were they forcing this on her? What right did  _she_  have to make this sort of judgement?

“Allow me to speak with Connor…” she ultimately declared with resignation. “I’ll make my choice then.”

The Bann was hesitant in his response, but he eventually gave a nod of agreement.

The castle was incredibly quiet, now that the demon’s minions had been defeated. Even the slightest noises reverberated against the stone walls, which meant it didn’t take much effort to locate Connor. They followed the sounds of soft weeping until they found the boy huddled against a wall in one of the bedrooms.

When he took notice of them entering the room, he quickly looked up and whispered urgently, “Go away. She won’t like you being here. She’ll just try to hurt you.”

Manon gazed down at him sympathetically. She couldn’t imagine what he must be going through; being a prisoner in his own body. Maybe if she kept talking to him, she’d find some other way to get rid of the demon.  

“Don’t worry. I’m here to make sure she won’t hurt anyone else,” she said with a warm smile.

“I know.” He bit down on his lip tentatively. “I think the scary lady is afraid of you. She says you’ll ruin everything. I can’t hear her now, but she’s never very far…I tried to stop her, but I  _can’t_. She said she’d help Father…I didn’t think she’d hurt everyone. Honestly, I didn’t.” His lower lip trembled and the tears in his eyes threatened to spill over.

Crouching down beside him, though remaining on her guard, Manon spoke with a soft voice. “I know, Connor. I know you didn’t mean for this…but…” She took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain this to the young boy. “If we don’t find some way to get rid of her, I’m afraid we’re going to have to…to…”

He looked up at her with a look of understanding in his eyes. “Is that why you’re here? Are you going to kill me? She said you would.” His voice was surprisingly calm. It seemed like he’d had some time to reflect on this possibility. “What’s going to happen to me? When I’m dead?”

Manon attempted to keep her voice steady when she answered, to no avail. “The…The Chantry says we return to the Maker’s side. He’ll welcome you with open arms. I’m sure of it.”

“He always sounds so scary…Will he be angry with me? I hope not…” After a moment of contemplation, he continued in the same soft tone. “Is it…going to hurt much?”

Amazed by the bravery the boy was showing, Manon was determined to do everything she could to ease his pain. “No. I promise it’ll be quick. You won’t feel a thing.” She attempted to force a smile, but she was aware it wasn’t convincing.

She didn’t have the chance to follow through on her promise, though.

The boy soon became wracked with spasms and emitted a horrific cry from his throat. If Manon hadn’t seen it happen with her own eyes, she likely wouldn’t have believed the sight that unfolded before her. As Connor writhed in pain, his body slowly shifted into something monstrous; horns protruded from his head and his form turned to that of a scantily clad woman. Somehow, the demon had materialized itself through Connor.

They had no choice but to fight it. The creature was tough, but after a lengthy battle, they managed to subdue it. Having been weakened, the imagery of the demon slowly faded away, revealing a badly beaten, but still breathing, Connor.

As Manon approached the boy, dagger in hand, Lady Isolde suddenly barged into the room, screaming for them to stop. Leaning down and cradling her son’s limp body, she begged, “Please…have mercy on him, he’s just a boy…He doesn’t deserve this!”

“Would you rather the demon keep your family hostage?” Manon demanded.

“No…of course not, but…this is my son’s life…” she stuttered. “There must be another option!” She began grasping at straws, trying to come up with as many farfetched options as she could muster.

“Mother?” A small voice coughed from beneath Lady Isolde.

“Connor? Oh Connor…” she cried desperately, pulling her son closer.

“Mother…it hurts, I…” he whimpered, his face scrunching up in pain.

“Shh…It’s alright, darling…”

“It hurts…please…make it stop.”

Bringing a hand to her mouth in an attempt to lessen her sobs, Isolde had no option but to concede defeat. “I will, baby…I’ll…make the pain go away.”

Agony pulling at her face, Manon tentatively approached the two and gently laid a hand over Isolde’s. “I can’t ask you to do this,” she whispered softly. “You shouldn’t have to kill your own child.”

Looking up at Manon with eyes glossed over with tears, Isolde wept, “Please…end his suffering…”

“I will.”

Bringing the knife to the boy’s throat, Manon’s face contorted into one of extreme anguish. She knew she had to do this, but Maker, was it hard for her to follow through on. Closing her eyes to avoid seeing the expression on his face, she quickly pulled the blade through his throat. He let out but a few gurgling noises before falling silent. She hoped she had made it merciful enough.

Eventually, after Isolde had finished mourning, she and Teagan approached Manon and her companions to discuss the situation

“So it is over…” Teagan breathed, shaking his head in exasperation. “Connor is dead, and the demon gone with him. With its creatures vanquished, the castle is now back under our control…I thought I’d never see my brother again.

“My son…your nephew…is  _dead_ ,” Isolde stated slowly, but firmly. “Do not forget that in your great relief, Teagan.”

“How could I, my Lady? Eamon has much to mourn if he recuperates.”

 “And what of the Arl’s condition?” Manon asked hesitantly.

Glancing over his shoulder, Teagan took a brief look at his bed-ridden brother. “Whatever the demon did to my brother, it seems to have spared his life, but he remains comatose. We cannot wake him.”

“The Urn!” Isolde exclaimed, her face growing brighter. “The Urn of Sacred Ashes will save Eamon.

Manon wasn’t sure what was so special about this urn, or how it had the potential to save the Arl, but based on how they were speaking, it was likely their best hope to seek it out. “We will seek out the Urn, then. But I’m afraid I lack the proper knowledge on the subject…”

“Thank you…” Isolde said softly. “I am grateful for your eagerness to help restore my husband…Find Brother Genitivi, the scholar in Denerim. He has been researching the Urn’s location for several years now.”

“We wish you luck, and may the Maker go with you,” Teagan said as he bid the group farewell.

They left without another word, not even amongst themselves. Alistair seemed to be purposely avoiding Manon’s gaze, and it didn’t take much effort to realize what had him so upset. She hoped if he had time to think about it, he’d calm down and see reason.

 ------

Holding her hand to her forehead, Manon stared blankly into the fire pit as the flames lapped hungrily at the logs. The guilt was still eating at her, and to make matters worse, she heard footsteps rapidly approaching from behind.

“Could I…have a word with you?”

She didn’t need to hear his voice to know that it was Alistair who was confronting her. Letting out a deep sigh, she slowly looked over her shoulder to gaze at him with vacant eyes. “I’m not really in the mood to talk about it,” she muttered in a dead-pan voice.

His brow quickly knitted together and he angrily pointed a finger at her. “You killed Connor. You  _killed_ him. A little boy. How could you  _do_  that?”

She had been expecting this reaction, given his attitude since they left Redcliffe, but even so, his harsh tone of voice shocked her. Until now, not once had he raised his voice at her or even shown her any sort of animosity. His accusatory tone physically hurt. Were her resolve any weaker, it might have been enough to bring her to tears. Instead, she grew bitter and angry in retaliation.

“What? Do you think I  _enjoyed_  it or something?!” She rose to her feet and met his gaze, fiercely gritting her teeth. “I’m fully aware that he was a child, but the demon needed to be killed! What did you expect me to do?”

“You could have let the Arlessa sacrifice herself!” The volume of Alistair’s voice quickly began to rise as he let his aggravation take over. “Lady Isolde is the one who started all of it, isn’t she?! Blood magic or no, if one of them had to die, it should have been her!” He took a step closer to her and looked down at her with a resentment she hadn’t thought him capable of. “This is the Arl’s  _son_  we’re talking about here. What do you think he’ll  _say_  when we revive him? Hm?!”

Manon could feel the beginning sting of tears, but she was determined to hold them back. She glared back at him and growled, “Are you suggesting he would have been happier if I’d sacrificed his wife?! I know you didn’t like her, and to be honest, I didn’t care for her either, but the Arl  _loves_  her!” She squeezed her eyes shut as her hands balled up into fists. “How was I supposed to choose which loved one deserved to live?!” she screamed at him, her voice cracking. Refusing to open her eyes, she began pounding her fists against his chest. “I didn’t see any of  _you_  making that decision. What gives you the right to criticize me?”

Her anger was beginning to die out and her jabs were growing weaker. Despite her best efforts, the tears were beginning to stream down her face.  “Damn it…” she muttered as she frantically tried to wipe away the tears.

As soon as the realization struck him that she was crying, Alistair’s face instantly softened and he immediately regretted his previous accusations. “Y-You’re right…Manon, I-I’m sorry. Of course you’re right.” He took hold of her shoulders and attempted to meet her gaze. “Maker’s Breath, I’m such an ass…”

Refusing to look him in the eye, she merely uttered a small whimper in response.

“It’s not like you wanted to do it…And I’m sure you’re already beating yourself up over it without me getting on your case.” He let out a groan and pulled his hands away. “I’m sorry…I still think there could have been another way, but I won’t bug you anymore. I…I need to stop talking before I keep shoving my foot in my mouth like an idiot.” She looked up just in time to see him turning around, giving an awkward wave of acknowledgement. “See you in the morning, then.”

As he departed, Manon let out an aggravated sigh before turning her head towards the other side of camp. She barely caught a glimpse of Morrigan staring in their direction before she promptly turned away. Manon couldn’t really blame her for eavesdropping…she’d be surprised if they hadn’t woken the whole forest with their argument.

 


	9. Roses and Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manon and Alistair are ambushed by an assassin and it brings up some unpleasant memories for Manon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allow me to preface this by saying...I love Zev, I really do. But there are a multitude of reasons as to why I didn't recruit him during Manon's playthrough. The most pertinent being that he made her extremely uncomfortable.
> 
> But hey, at least I included the rose scene for your reading pleasure! (It was initially supposed to be later in the story, but I realized that it fit pretty well here.)

It had been nearly a week since Alistair and Manon’s argument. While they no longer held any hostility towards one another, their interactions were incredibly awkward and the tension between them was palpable. They kept their conversations to a minimum, and when they stopped in Lothering to shop for supplies, they had elected to go their separate ways.

In truth, Manon missed being at Alistair’s side. He had already forgiven her, but she still felt bitter about the incident. Prior to their fight, she had always felt so safe around him; like she could rely on him no matter what. But after he confronted her, that illusion had shattered. She realized that perhaps she didn’t know Alistair as well as she thought she did. Feeling uncomfortable with her lack of knowledge, rather than talk to him about the issue, Manon ended up distancing herself from Alistair. She knew she was acting like a child, and honestly wished she could just drop the act. She wanted to be his friend again, but there was a part of her that was afraid to let him in. What if she let him get too close and he ended up hurting her?

Gathering her courage, Manon tentatively turned to look at Alistair, who was walking a few feet ahead of her. He carried himself more seriously than when they had first set out from Flemeth’s hut. Was he also trying to keep his guard up? Or…was that sadness in his eyes? Maybe he missed Manon just as much as she missed him…

She let out a small, inaudible sigh. Perhaps it was time to put an end to her stubbornness and talk to him. As she considered how to approach him, something else caught her attention. There was a small bit of movement coming from the tree line. She squinted in an attempt to make it out better. A bush was rustling, but only barely. Was it an animal?

Hesitantly, she pressed forward. It was probably nothing. But less than a minute later, another noise caught her attention. It vaguely sounded like the creak of leather. Leaning closer to Morrigan, she asked, “Morrigan, did you hear-?”

And that’s when it happened. All at once, ten assailants sprung from the greenery, each attacking from a different vantage point. Frantically, Manon pulled out her crossbow and began firing. The assassins moved quickly, swiftly darting between the group with the intention of separating them. She managed to fire one bolt into an archer’s shoulder, and another into the stomach of the rogue who was rapidly approaching her.

She was suddenly taken by surprise, though, when a hand grabbed her collar from behind and spun her around before pressing her firmly against a nearby boulder. Her crossbow fell from her hands in the process and she struggled to free herself from the man’s iron grip.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” he purred with a thick accent.

Her eyes snapped up to look the assassin in the face. He was an elf; dark-skinned with bright golden hair. Had the circumstances been different, his words might have left her flustered. But they weren’t, and she was terrified.

He quickly shifted his position so that his left hand held both of her wrists while the other reached for his dagger. He twirled it playfully before bringing it closer to her throat. “It is almost a shame I have to kill you.”

The seductive nature of his voice severely contradicted his actions. He clearly had no qualms with killing her, as he gave a slight smirk, pressing the blade dangerously close to her neck.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. And it wasn’t just from the close vicinity of the weapon. She found herself paralyzed with fear. The nuances in his voice, as well as his position of dominance, sent her spiraling back to her wedding day. In a flash, all of the horrible memories of the incident came rushing to the forefront of her memory. Once again, she was reduced to a frightened maiden, trembling at the sight of a man who wanted to have his way with her, one way or another.

Even if her weapons were within reach, she doubted she would have been capable of retrieving them. It was all she could do not to break into sobs right there.

She squeezed her eyes tight, willing this to end. As she did so, she caught the sound of armor clanking loudly.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” Alistair roared. She barely had time to register his shout before he rushed in with his shield, sending her assailant flying. She fell to the ground in a boneless heap, and struggled to catch her breath. Her heart threatened to leap from her chest, and even in her attempts to calm herself, she couldn’t manage to placate its desperate throbbing.

Quickly, she looked up to evaluate the situation. Alistair and the assassin were going at it rather fervently. Manon had never seen Alistair fight so ferociously before, not even at Ostagar.  _Help him!_  She yelled at herself inwardly, and desperately searched the ground for her fallen weapon. She crawled over and reached for her crossbow, but upon picking it up, realized just how much she was trembling. She raised the bow closer to her face, aiming it at the fight, but promptly realized that her efforts to help would be fruitless. She was shaking like a leaf. Even with a steady hand, firing a bolt at the assassin without hitting Alistair would take concentration. If she tried to help in her current state, it would just end in disaster.

Letting out a cry of frustration, she tossed her weapon to the ground and fell to her hands and knees. The memories that had brought on this panic attack still lingered. All she could think of was Vaughan. Her throat constricted and she gagged on the bile that began to surface.  

All of a sudden, a hand reached out to touch her shoulder and she recoiled in response, falling backwards and scooting up against the rock. She softened slightly upon realizing that it was Morrigan who had reached out to her.

“Relax, it is only I,” she said calmly before glancing over her shoulder. “We managed to slay the assassins, and have incapacitated their leader. I assume you would like to question him?”

Unable to speak, Manon nodded slowly, which Morrigan took as a sign of dismissal.

Having finally calmed down a bit, Manon gradually recollected her belongings and brought herself to her feet, exhaling deeply. She slowly made her way over to her companions, who stood around the unconscious assassin, who they had taken the liberty of tying up. She glanced at him hesitantly. He may be harmless now, but what would happen when he woke up? Were the ropes tight enough? Did he have any hidden blades that he might be able to reach?

When he began to grunt, she let out a small peep and distanced herself from the spot, standing close enough that she’d be able to hear their conversation, but no closer.  

“Oh….what? I- Oh…” he groaned as he began to stir. He glanced up briefly, coming to realize the situation he was in. “I rather thought I would wake up dead, or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet…”

Crossing his arms, Alistair stated bluntly, “We have some questions for you.”

“Ah, so I am to be interrogated. Let me save you a little time and get right to the point. My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens…which I have failed at, sadly.”

Ignoring his attempts at humor, Alistair proceeded with the questioning. “Who hired you to kill us?”

“A rather taciturn fellow in the capitol…Loghain, I think his name was.” He furrowed his brow as he attempted to recollect his memory. “Yes, that’s it.”

“Great…” Alistair grumbled. “That man just keeps throwing more pleasant surprises at us…”

“Are we to assume you are loyal to Loghain, then?” Morrigan inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“I have no idea what his issues are with you…The usual, I imagine. You threaten his power, yes? Beyond that, no, I am not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.”

“When were you supposed to see him next?”

“I wasn’t,” Zevran started with slight hesitation. “If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results…if he didn’t already know.”

“And if you had failed?” Alistair asked condescendingly.

“What can I say, ah? I am an eternal optimist,” the assassin chimed with a smile. “Although the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don’t they?” Forced laughter followed his remark, which quickly trailed off when he noticed the lack of amusement on his captors’ faces. “No…I don’t suppose you’d find that funny, would you?”

Alistair’s face scrunched up in confusion and he turned to Morrigan. “I don’t like this…Why is he telling us everything so willingly?”

He let out a small laugh in response. “And why shouldn’t I? I wasn’t paid for silence.”

Thinking over what the assassin said, Alistair pressed his lips together, but kept a distrustful eye on the man. Taking their silence as a cue, Zevran continued onto a new tangent.

“Well, if you are done interrogating me, I have a proposition for you.” He waited to make sure they were listening before he continued. “Here’s the thing…I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That’s how it works. If you don’t kill me, the Crows will. The thing is, I like living, and you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause, so…let me serve you, instead.”

“Absolutely not,” Alistair said curtly.

Morrigan brought a finger to her chin pensively. “Indeed…I regret that I am siding with  _Alistair_  on this matter, but I do believe it would be foolish to bring this man along.” She turned briefly to look at Manon. “We cannot know for certain if what he says is true. And while he may not be loyal to Loghain, some compulsion to finish the job may remain. It would be wise for us to end him now while we have the chance.”

Realizing the lack of sympathy in the people that stood before him, Zevran desperately tried to come up with more excuses. Upon noticing Morrigan speaking to Manon, he leaned forward, trying to look at her through the gap between the pair. “My friend, please! I know we may not have gotten off on the best of terms, but I do not wish you any ill will.”

The moment he made eye contact with her, Manon shrunk away, hugging herself and turning her gaze to the ground. “Please…don’t speak to me,” she said at almost a whisper.

Harshly pulling his head back to face him, Alistair glared at the assassin. “Leave her out of this.”

Knowing he’d taken his gaze off of her, Manon risked a peek back at the scene. The fear in the man’s eyes was prevalent, and her brow creased in concern. Was this really the right thing to do? Yes, he tried to kill them, and yes, his actions had provoked a panic attack from Manon, but it wasn’t as if he  _wanted_  to kill them…

“Enough talking…Let’s get this over with,” Alistair muttered, shoving Zevran to the ground.

As he reached for his sword, Manon  cried out, “Wait!”

All three heads sharply turned towards her in shock. “I…” she stuttered. “We don’t have to kill him.”

At her comment, Zevran’s face lit up. “Ah, I knew you would come around! I-”

“No,” she said sternly, cutting him off. “Don’t speak to me like I’m your friend. I’m not.” She softened her gaze and turned to Alistair. “He’s not obliged to kill us anymore. We…Shouldn’t we be better than this? We can just let him go.”

“Are you serious?!” he asked, a little louder than he intended. When she flinched slightly at his words, he quickly lowered his volume. “After what he did to us, to  _you_...you want to just let him go?”

“Yes.” Her voice was unwavering and she met Alistair’s gaze with a pained, but determined expression.

“I…” He paused for several moments, trying to come up with an excuse before sighing and sheathing his sword. “Alright,” he admitted reluctantly. “I suppose there’s no arguing with you.”

As he bent down to cut the ropes, Manon dared to step closer to the man. With a disciplined tone, she said matter-of-factly. “This is your one and only chance. You have your freedom, but you are to disappear from our lives. If we ever see you again, we will not hesitate to kill you. Understood?”

“Yes, I understand,” he said, rubbing his wrists from where the rope had been tied. He stretched his arms momentarily before bidding them one last remark. “I suppose my life on the run starts now. Farewell. I wish you luck in your endeavors.”

And with that, he was gone.

\------

Unable to sleep, Manon sat in her tent with her legs pulled to her chest. She had had plenty of time to calm down from the incident with Zevran, but the memories of her wedding still tugged at her thoughts. To make matters worse, the ambush meant that Manon never had the chance to reconcile with Alistair like she’d hoped…and right now, she felt far too scared and vulnerable to seek him out.

As if on cue, a voice called out from outside her tent. “Manon? You awake?”

She started slightly upon hearing him call out to her, but replied softly, “Yes…come in.”

Carefully lifting the tent flap, Alistair peeked in, lingering in the doorway. “I was wondering…if you wanted to talk about what happened earlier.”

She hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave a nod of affirmation and he entered, making his way to sit next to her.

“I…” He struggled to find the proper words for what he wanted to say. “Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it seemed like  _something_  happened back there.” Turning to look her in the eye, he lowered his voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so scared before.”

Biting down on her lip, Manon shifted her gaze to the side. “It…brought up some bad memories,” she said after a long period of deliberation.

“Would you…would you be willing to tell me about it?”

She wanted to tell him. Truly, she did. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him…It was just incredibly painful remembering that day, let alone trying to explain it to someone else.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can…” she whispered. “Not yet, at least.”

Alistair closed his eyes in contemplation and nodded knowingly. “Yeah, okay. I understand. I’ll…I’ll always be around if you need someone to talk to. You know that, right?”

“I do. Th-thank you, Alistair…”

He gave her a warm smile before getting up and making his way over to the tent before stopping briefly. Without much warning, he quickly spun on his heels and blurted out, “Wait right there! I’ll be back in a second!” He then dashed from the tent in a hurry.

Blinking in surprise, Manon wondered what he was up to. After he was gone for a minute, she started to get up in order to check on him, but that was when he rushed back into the tent, a little out of breath.

“I, uh…” he muttered, panting slightly. “Just gimme a sec.”

She cocked her head to the side, giving him a perplexed expression. Just what was going on?

As his breathing returned to normal, he crouched down next to her. “Hold out your hand.”

She did as he instructed and he pulled his hands from behind his back to place something in her outstretched palm. “Here. Look at this. Do you know what this is?” he asked softly.

It was a rose. A beautiful, vibrant red rose. She stared at it with awe. Not knowing what to say, she asked timidly, “It’s a rose, isn’t it?

A tender smile stretched across his face. “I…picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking ‘How could something  _so beautiful_  exist in a place with so much  _despair_  and  _ugliness_?’” He turned his gaze to the floor, a guilty look creeping onto his face. “I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn’t. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it…So I’ve had it ever since.”

Giving a small smile, she uttered quietly, “That’s a lovely sentiment, Alistair.”

“I…” He took a deep breath as he attempted to gather his courage. “I thought that I might…give it to you, actually.” Smiling at her sheepishly, he could feel his face flushing red. “In a lot of ways, I think the same thing…when I look at you.”

In that moment, she stopped breathing. The hand that wasn’t holding the rose covered her mouth in sheer shock. He had no idea how much his words meant to her. She felt so foolish that she was taking so long to come up with a proper response.

“I…I don’t know what to say,” she breathed. She clutched the rose close to her heart and looked up at him, eyes full of affection. “Thank you.”

He gazed at her with such gentile eyes, smiling with relief on hearing her response. “I’m glad you like it,” he said softly. “I was just thinking…here I am doing all this complaining, and you haven’t exactly been having a good time of it, yourself. You’ve had none of the good experience of being a Grey Warden since your Joining. Not a word of thanks or congratulations. It’s all been death and fighting and tragedy. I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness…”

Again, Manon was at a loss for words. She worried she might start crying tears of joy. Drawing a blank on what she might say, she instead opted to go for humor. “You know…you didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I was planning on making up with you anyway.”

He let out a hearty laugh in response. “Ah, yes, you got me…this was all an elaborate ploy just to get you to speak to me again.” Leaning in closer with a stupid grin on his face, he asked, “So tell me, is it working?”

She let out a giggle as she shoved him away playfully. “I’ll have to think on it.”

Standing to his feet, he let out another chuckle. “Well, I’m glad the peace offering worked…” As he turned to leave, he paused, his tone softening a bit. “I’m glad I was able to make you laugh…It’s been ages since I’ve seen you smile.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond before he was out the door.

As soon as he left, she returned to looking over the flower, gently stroking its petals. She still couldn’t believe it. The way he spoke of her…it made the butterflies in her stomach go crazy. She continued to stare fondly at the rose before searching through her pack for a journal. She wanted to press it, to ensure it would last forever. Once it was set, she place the book next to her pillow and promptly fell asleep.

She slept soundly, without a single bad dream in sight.

 


	10. The Beast Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Manon and her party find a Dalish tribe to honor the treaties, they learn that they must first break a centuries-old curse if they are to receive aid against the Blight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up squishing the entire werewolf quest into a single chapter, so it ended up being super long... /cries
> 
> In the next chapter, we’ll be heading to Denerim, so you can look forward to those shenanigans.

Manon and her companions had set off early in the morning in search of a Dalish clan. They were lucky enough that their search didn’t last very long when they stumbled across a group of scouts on the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest. The elves had been wary at first, but when Manon explained that they were Grey Wardens in search of allies, they decided to bring them back to camp.

As they entered the encampment, Manon took the opportunity to look around earnestly. Her father had told her dozens of stories about the Dalish, and here she was, finally seeing them in person. They all stared at the group as they walked past, curious as to the presence of the outsiders. Manon smiled shyly at them, trying to show that they were friendly.

The group of scouts soon brought Manon and her party before a bald man in long robes. As they approached him, he looked them over curiously. “Hm…I see we have guests.” Manon shifted nervously under his watchful gaze.

“This one claims to be a Grey Warden and wishes to speak with you,” one of the scouts explained.

“I see…” he said slowly. “Ma serannas, Mithra, you may return to your post.”

“Ma nuvenin, Keeper,” she said, dismissing herself with the other scouts following suit.

After she departed, the Keeper spoke once more. “Now, allow me to introduce myself. I am Zathrian, the Keeper of this clan; its guide and preserver of our ancient lore. And you are?”

“Uh, I-I’m Manon…A pleasure to meet you,” she stammered.

He paused for a moment before speaking, as if studying her. “I imagine you are here regarding the treaty we signed centuries ago…Unfortunately, we may not be able to live up to the promise we made.” Before she could open her mouth to request and answer, he continued, “This will require some…explanation. Please follow me.”

He quickly ushered them off to another area of the camp, which appeared to include the healers’ tents. There were suspiciously more cots set out than would seem typical, however. As they got closer, Manon took notice of the state of the patients. They were all groaning deeply and twitching in pain. Several of them had dark purple circles formed beneath their eyes and others’ veins were popping out. Whatever had happened here, it appeared like they all shared the same affliction.

“The clan came to the Brecilian Forest one month ago, as is our custom when we enter this part of Ferelden,” Zathrian began calmly. “We are always wary of the dangers in the forest, but we did not expect the werewolves would be lying in wait for us. They…ambushed us, and though we drove the beasts back, much damage was done. Many of our warriors lie dying as we speak.” He gestured to the poor victims that lay beside them. “Even with all our magic and healing skill, we will eventually be forced to slay our brethren to prevent them from becoming beasts.”

Werewolves? Had Manon heard him correctly? She remembered hearing stories of the creatures as a child, but as she grew older, she assumed they were merely legends. From her experiences, the real monsters were the ones that walked the streets on a daily basis.

“The Blight’s evil must be stopped, but we are in no position to uphold our obligations,” he continued before turning back to Manon with an apologetic look. “I am truly sorry.”

Manon frowned for a moment in contemplation. “You…you said you encountered werewolves, yes? Are…Do they really exist?”

“There was a time in Ferelden’s history when werebeasts roamed the lands in great numbers. Spirits possessed animals and turned them into horrific monsters. The humans warred against and destroyed these creatures…No doubt their tales of those days grow ever more inaccurate. There werebeasts are not all gone from this land, and the ones that stalk the Brecilian Forest are proof of this.”

“What sort of illness did they inflict upon your clan? Is there anything I can do to help them?”

“The affliction is a curse that runs rampant in their blood, bringing great agony and then ultimately either death or a transformation into something monstrous.” He let out a sigh of frustration. “The only thing that could help them must come from the source of the curse itself, and that…would be no trivial task to retrieve.”

“Just tell me what I need to do,” Manon said without hesitation.

“Within the Brecilian Forest dwells a great wolf – we call him Witherfang. It was within him that the curse originated, and through his blood that it has been spread. If he is killed and his heart brought to me, perhaps I could destroy the curse, but this task has proven too dangerous for us…I sent some hunters into the forest a week ago, but they have not returned. I cannot risk any more of my clan.”

“I understand,” she uttered calmly. “We’ll do our best to find this Witherfang.”

“Thank you,” Zathrian acknowledged with a grateful nod. “May the Creators guide you on your path.”

After bidding the Keeper farewell, the party stocked up on supplied before making their way into the woods.

As they approached a clearing near a small waterfall, Truffles stopped abruptly, staring attentively at the path ahead of them. He flattened his ears and began to let out a low growl.

“What is it, boy?” When the question left her lips, three large forms came bounding down the trail before blocking their path. They rose up on their hind legs, easily towering over the group, and snarled viciously. Manon began reaching for her crossbow, but halted when one of the creatures spoke.

“The watch-wolves have spoken truly, my brothers and sisters,” one of the werewolves growled. “Another of the Dalish, come to put us in our place, come to make us pay for our attack.”

Dalish? Were they talking about her?

“I’m not Dalish, though…” she said carefully.

“What difference does it make?” he barked. “You intrude in our forest and you are not welcome,  _elf_.” He bared his fangs maliciously as he spoke. It seemed as though he held some sort of personal qualm with the Dalish, or perhaps with elves in general.

“You speak to Swiftrunner. I lead my cursed brothers and sisters…Turn back now. Go back to the Dalish and tell them that you have failed. Tell them we will gladly watch them suffer the same curse that we have suffered for too long. We will watch them pay!”

Manon furrowed her brows in confusion. Zathrian had said that werewolves were monstrosities that were the result of possession…these creatures seemed far too intelligent and self-aware for that to be the case. While she very much wanted an explanation for it all, she needed to focus on the problem in front of her.

“Please, I’m just here to talk. I mean you no harm.”

“Was it not Zathrian who sent you?” Swiftrunner snapped accusingly. “He wishes only our destruction, never to talk!”

Attempting to balance her search for the truth with the negotiation taking place before her, she answered with caution. “Yes, he sent me…but I merely wish to help his people. He told me that I would need to find Witherfang to do so. What can you tell me about him?”

Grunting briefly, the wolf replied, “Witherfang is the first and the eldest. This forest is his home, and you will never see him. If you are lucky.”

She was beginning to believe that Zathrian hadn’t told her the whole story. In that case, she figured it would be a good idea to meet with these wolves and see what they had to say on the matter.

“Could I perhaps meet with him? I’d like to discuss this peacefully.”

“I know why you seek him, and it is not to speak!” he snarled. “We are done speaking!”

“ _Please_ …” she pleaded, looking deep into the wolf’s eyes. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“I…do not wish to fight you, either,” he said slowly, lowering his voice slightly. “But we cannot trust you. For now, we shall retreat.”

He rallied the other werewolves that had gathered and just as soon as they had appeared, they were gone.

\------

As they sat around the campfire, Manon looked down at her empty bowl of soup and her stomach promptly growled. Frowning, she tried to ignore the hunger pangs. She’d already had two helpings…why was she so hungry?

She’d definitely noticed that her appetite had increased after her joining the Grey Wardens, but even if that was the cause, she still felt guilty about eating so much food. Back in the Alienage, there were people who starved on the streets. Her family was well-enough off that they could afford to eat on a regular basis, but there were several times in her life where she had gone hungry. Having seconds was already a foreign concept to Manon, but opting to take even more helpings just felt…wrong.

She had no idea how her family had been holding up since she left…Were they doing alright? The thought of them just barely scraping by while she selfishly enjoyed a surplus of food sickened her. But there were only three of them…If they let the food go to waste, she’d feel even guiltier. With conflicted emotions, she rose from her seat to fill her bowl once more.

“Hungry, are we?” Alistair chimed jokingly.

Manon’s face immediately flushed at his comment and she stumbled over her words. “Y-you’re right, I’ve had too much to eat as it is…I’ll just give this to Truffles.”

Hearing his name, the mabari perked his ears up and his tail began to wag at the prospect of food.

As she hurried over to set the bowl on the ground, Alistair briskly walked over and stopped her. “Whoa, whoa…Calm down. I was only joking.” He attempted to meet her gaze and noticed that she seemed truly distraught about something. “You’re not…you’re not worried about gaining weight or anything, are you?”

She quickly looked up at him with a shocked expression. “No! Why would I be?”

“Ah- I just…It seems like you feel guilty about the whole Grey Warden appetite…Are you embarrassed by it or something?”

So it was a Grey Warden thing after all…Regardless, Manon shook her head in response. “No…It’s…more complicated than that.”

Taking the bowl from her hands and setting it aside, he said, “So tell me, then.”

“It’s…well…” She sighed and reluctantly took a seat. “Are you aware that I grew up in the Alienage?”

Taking a seat next to her, Alistair paused momentarily. “Yes, I believe Duncan mentioned it briefly…”

“Have you ever been there?”

“No…I guess I haven’t,” he confessed.

“It’s not a bad place…” she began softly. “It’s my home, after all. I loved it there. But…” She took a deep breath before continuing. “After Duncan took me away…I’ve realized just how different things are on the outside world. The air is so much cleaner, the grass so much healthier…the people so well fed.”

She glanced over to look him in the eye and the realization quickly set in.

“Ah.” He shifted his hands in his lap, trying to think of something to say. “If that’s what’s bothering you…I don’t think you need to be so worried.”

“And why is that?” There wasn’t any disdain in her voice; it was a serious question.

“I can’t say that I know what your family is like, but if things are how you say they are, I’m certain they’d be happy to know that you’re living a life where you’re well-fed.”

She thought about it and realized there was some truth to what he was saying. There were many times Cyrion had sacrificed his own meals in favor of feeding the children, and Shianni always offered to share with Manon whenever she noticed her ribs getting too prominent. The more she thought about it, the more she knew Alistair was right. They loved her unconditionally, and even if they were undergoing hardships, she knew that they would be happy to know she was doing well.

Giving a crooked smile, she admitted, “I suppose you’re right.” Her stomach growled in affirmation and she laughed.  

Smiling in return, Alistair chuckled. “That’s the spirit.” He leaned over and passed the bowl back to her, which she stared at with hungry eyes. She still felt a small twinge of guilt, but most of it had dissipated enough for her to dig into the stew.

\------

After several days of trekking through the woods, they finally began to near their destination. An ancient, elaborate structure stood before them. What was its origin? Who lived here prior to the werewolves? Was it Elven or something else entirely? Regardless of the building’s story, the party ventured further in, continuing on their quest to seek out Witherfang.

Though Manon had wanted to avoid confrontation with the wolves, they were determined to keep the invaders out, and thus they had no choice but to fight their way through. Eventually, when they entered one of the lower rooms, they were approached by yet another group of werewolves.

The one with a deep grey pelt spoke first. “Stop! Brothers and sisters, be at ease!” he barked at his companions. Turning to Manon with what she imagined was a sneer, he continued, “We do not wish any more of our people. I ask you this now, outsider: Are you willing to parley?”

“Of course,” she replied firmly. “That’s what I’ve wanted to do since the beginning.” She tried to bite back her aggravated tone. She didn’t want to provoke the wolves unnecessarily.

He grunted in response. “I have been sent to you on behalf of the Lady. She believes that you may not be aware of everything you should be…She means you no harm, provided your willingness to parley in peace is an honest one.”

“It is.”

“Follow me…” the wolf growled with slight hesitation. “But I warn you, if you break your promise and harm her, I will come back from the Fade itself to see you pay.”

 _Duly noted…_  Manon thought to herself as the group of wolves led them further into their lair.

Dozens of werewolves lined the walls of the next chamber, each snarling and bristling at the party that walked past. Truffles growled back at them, but quickly hushed when one of them snapped at his tail. As they neared the dais at the back of the room, the wolves grew more agitated, with their roars rapidly increasing in volume.

By the time they stood before the dais, Manon took notice of another figure that was slowly making its way through the wolves. It had the form of a woman, unclothed save the root-like appendages that sprouted from her body. She glided through the room with a grace and elegance that greatly contrasted the demeanor of the werewolves. And the effect her presence had on them was something else entirely…As she passed several of the wolves, their rage began to dwindle, and her finger barely had to graze Swiftrunner’s fur for him to instantly quiet.

She slowly panned her gaze from the wolf over to Manon and stared at her with deep black eyes. “I bid you welcome, mortal. I am the Lady of the Forest.” Her voice was soft and wise and possessed an odd sort of echo.

“Thank you. I’m honored to meet you,” Manon said with a respectful nod.

“Do not listen to her, Lady!” Swiftrunner cried desperately. “She will betray you! We must attack her now!”

Her companions tensed, ready to reach for their weapons should things get messy, but the Lady quickly alleviated the wolf’s rage. “Hush, Swiftrunner…Your urge for battle has only seen the death of the very ones you have been trying to save. Is that what you want?”

“No, my lady. Anything but that,” he said with a surprisingly calm demeanor.

“Then the time has come to speak with this outsider, to set our rage aside.” Returning to meet Manon’s gaze, she continued, “I apologize on Swiftrunner’s behalf. He struggles with his cursed nature…” She tilted her head to the side, then added, “No doubt you have questions, mortal. There are things that Zathrian has not told you.”

“I’m certainly under the impression that he left out parts of the story, yes.”

“It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer, the same curse that Zathrian’s own people now suffer.” She took a brief pause before delving into the tale. “Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest. They sought to drive the Dalish away…Zathrian was a young man then. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly, and while out hunting, the human tribe captured them both.”

This stirred a low growl from Swiftrunner, who continued the story for her. “The humans…tortured the boy, killed him. The girl they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but she learned later she was…with child. She…killed herself.”

Manon’s eyes widened in shock. Discovering that Zathrian was centuries old was certainly unexpected, but the information that resonated with her more was the fate of his children. What happened to them was not so different than what happened to those in the Alienage on a semi-regular basis. The fact that two of Manon’s loved ones suffered outcomes similar to Zathrian’s children only made the story more impactful.

“How awful…” she breathed with despair.

The Lady and Swiftrunner continued to elaborate on how the curse came to be. Zathrian summoned a spirit and bound it to the body of a great wolf, creating Witherfang. The beast attacked the humans in vengeance, and while some were slaughtered, others were cursed to become monstrosities that mimicked Witherfang’s form.

“We seek to end the curse. The crimes committed against Zathrian’s children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those who are long dead.” Her expression hardened slightly and her voice held a twinge of anger. “Word was sent to Zathrian every time the landships passed this way, asking him to come, but he has always ignored us. We will no longer be denied.”

“We spread the curse to his people, so he must end the curse to save them!” Swiftrunner spat.

“Please, mortal…” she pleaded. “You must go to him. Bring him here. If he sees these creatures, hears their plight…surely he will agree to end the curse.”

While Manon was entirely empathetic to Zathrian and felt his actions were more than justified, she realized that he had gone too far. The ones afflicted by the curse now held no ties to the event and were being punished unfairly. It had to end. Biting down on her lip slightly, Manon thought for a moment. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to the five-day hike back to the clan, but if retrieving Zathrian was the only way to break the curse, then she would do it. “All right…I’ll bring him here.”

The Lady promptly directed Manon towards a door hidden off to the side which led back to the surface. At least they wouldn’t have to mindlessly backtrack through the temple.

Her prior hesitations regarding returning to the clan quickly vanished when they entered the next room. To her shock, Zathrian was crouched over a body, examining it closely. What on Thedas was he doing here? It seemed oddly convenient.

“Ah, and here you are already,” he said, unfazed by their presence.

“Zathrian? What are you doing here?” she asked, looking him over suspiciously.

He pursed his lips and looked her group over momentarily. “There was no way to tell what would happen once you reached this ruin, so I decided to come myself.”

Narrowing her gaze, she replied, “More like you wanted to make sure I fulfilled my role as delivery girl properly.”

“I would not have phrased it as such, but yes…I did wish to ensure you had retrieved the heart. Have you?”

“No. I haven’t,” she answered firmly.

“You haven’t?” His gaze hardened significantly and his tone became stern. “May I ask then, why are you leaving the ruin?”

“I was heading back to retrieve you. I hadn’t realized you’d taken the liberty of following me all the way out here.” She crossed her arms before continuing her confrontation. “The Lady of the Forest wishes to speak with you.”

“Oh, is that what the spirit calls herself now?” he questioned sardonically. “And what does she want with me, if I might inquire?”

“She wants you to break the curse.” Fearing that might not be enough to convince him, she added, “She also threatened to withhold Witherfang from us unless you do so.”

Shaking his head sarcastically, Zathrian threw her a smug look. “You  _do_  understand that she actually  _is_  Witherfang, yes?”

“I…had suspected as much.”

The way the werewolves spoke of Witherfang, and how they revered the Lady were all too similar to be a coincidence. While she didn’t fully understand why Witherfang had been referred to as male, she didn’t doubt that the two entities were at least somewhat connected.

Zathrian continued to go on about Witherfang’s supposed savage nature and how it had consequently turned the humans into animalistic beasts.

Sighing in aggravation, she countered, “They may be monstrous, but they have retained their minds…their humanity.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” he scoffed. Even so, he agreed to accompany Manon back to the ruin to speak with the Lady, albeit he went with the intention of slaying Witherfang.  

As they returned to the chamber, the wolves’ agitation reignited upon witnessing Zathrian. He calmly pressed forward, ignoring their various growls and attempted swipes at him.

“So here you are, spirit,” he stated upon approaching the dais.

Angrily, Swiftrunner dashed up to the keeper, easily towering over him and bellowing, “She is the Lady of the Forest! You will address her properly!”

Paying no mind to the angered werewolf, Zathrian turned his gaze back to the Lady and asked calmly, “You’ve taken a name, spirit? And you’ve given names to your pets? These…beasts who follow you?”

“It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian. And the names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them to find who they are.”

“Who they are has not changed from whom their ancestors were,” Zathrian spat with irritation. “Wild savages! Worthless dogs! Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!”

“He will not help us, Lady! It is as I warned you! He is not here to talk!” snarled Swiftrunner.

“No, I am here to talk, though I see little point in it. We all know where this will lead. Your nature compels it, as does mine.”

“It does not have to be that way,” The Lady uttered gently as she approached the elf. “There is room in your heart for compassion, Zathrian. Surely your retribution is spent.”

“My retribution is eternal spirit, as is my pain,” he replied, setting his jaw. “This is justice, no more.”

“Are you certain your pain is the only reason you will not end this curse?” she questioned with a knowing tone. Shifting her eyes to Manon, she continued, “You are aware of how the curse came to be. Witherfang and I are bound as one being…But such powerful magic could not be accomplished without Zathrian’s own blood.”

The Keeper fixed his gaze to the ground in a mix of anger and shame.

“Your people believe they have rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors, Zathrian,” she chastised. “But that is not true. So long as the curse exists, so do you.”

“No! That is not how it is!” he barked defensively.

“The curse would not end with Zathrian’s death,” the Lady explained. “His life, however, relies on its existence.”

So that was it. Manon saw it now. He was afraid and blinded by hatred.

When he could take it no more, Zathrian turned his gaze upon Manon and demanded, “Do what you have come here to do, Grey Warden, or get out of my way!”

Tightening her grip on her crossbow, Manon replied firmly, “You’ll end that curse if I have to force you myself.”

Alistair gave a nod of affirmation and echoed her stance. “We’re standing for what’s right, no matter what.”

Zathrian let out a battle cry, holding out his staff and preparing to summon any magic he could to his aid. The Lady of her Forest quickly lost her façade and melted into the form of an enormous white wolf. It threw its head back into a howl before leaping forward to attack.

The Keeper provided difficult to incapacitate, but eventually, his mana depleted and he was forced to take a knee, panting heavily and surrendering.

Swiftrunner demanded that they finish the job, but the Lady stopped him quickly. “No, Swiftrunner. We will not kill him. If there is no room in our hearts for mercy, how may we expect there to be room in his?”

“I cannot do as you ask, spirit,” he stated wearily. “I am…too old to know mercy. All I see are the faces of my children…my people…I-I cannot do it…” he sighed.

“Hasn’t this gone long enough, Zathrian?” Manon asked in a small, desperate voice, attempting to look him in the eyes. She needed him to see that she really, truly understood his pain, but that he had gone too far. This needed to end.

“Perhaps I have…lived too long,” he ultimately admitted, his face wracked with pain. “This hatred in me is like an ancient, gnarled root…It has consumed my soul.” He turned to the Lady with a sad expression, searching for some sort of answer to it all.

Calmly, she stated that she, too, had existed longer than necessary, and desired nothing more than for it to end. She begged for him to bring it, and ultimately, he conceded.

With a single determined motion, he brought his staff down upon the ground and his body instantly collapsed. The spirit’s body began to evaporate, and she looked up with the slightest hint of fear in her eyes. The werewolves slowly gathered around her, reaching out to her to offer comfort in her last moments of life. She was calm then, and her body soon faded away into nothingness. Light began to emanate from each of the wolves and their monstrous exteriors disappeared simultaneously, revealing dozens of unclothed humans. They all stared at themselves in utter disbelief, while some hurriedly embraced one another in glee.

Manon couldn’t help but smile solemnly at the sight. Zathrian had suffered so much, but it had finally come to an end. The humans were free, and now the Dalish would be, too. She eagerly awaited their return to the camp to finalize the alliance, but for now, they could afford to enjoy the victory.


	11. What to do With a Drunken Warden?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Manon arrive in Denerim with the intentions of reuniting with their families, but when their expectations crumble, they turn to alcohol to solve their problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here are the long-awaited shenanigans!  
> Includes drunken flirting and almost-confessions. ;)

The first thing Manon and her party did upon arriving in Denerim was track down Genitivi’s house. After no one answered when she knocked on the door, Manon tentatively tried the door handle. Surprisingly, it was open.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone home?”

They took a few steps into the house and took notice of a man standing calmly in the dining room. “Yes? What are you doing here?” he asked with minimal emotion.

“I’m looking for Brother Genitivi.”

“That makes two of us,” he mumbled solemnly, looking down slightly. “I haven’t seen Brother Genitivi in weeks. He’s sent no word…it’s so unlike him. I’m afraid something has happened. Genitivi’s research into the Urn may have led him into danger.”

“Why would searching for the Urn lead him into danger?” she questioned slowly. She still knew little about the object, and figured this man might be able to answer some of her questions.

“Perhaps the Urn has been lost for a reason…” he answered vaguely. “I pray for Genitivi’s safety, but hope dwindles with each passing day.” He must have interpreted her perplexed expression as one of suspicion because he quickly became defensive. “I-I tried to send help, but some knights came from Redcliffe looking for him not long ago. I sent them after Genitivi and they, too, have disappeared.”

While Manon previously had no doubts regarding the man’s intentions, his defensive tone quickly made her grow wary. “How do you know they disappeared?”

“Well, they…haven’t returned, and they sent no word, either,” he explained quickly, hesitating slightly.

“Is there any particular reason they would send  _you_  word?” She raised her eyebrows in a challenging manner.

“I-I don’t know…” he stuttered. “After what happened to Genitivi, can you blame me for thinking the same thing could happen to the knights?” He let out a small sigh. “Perhaps I am just a pessimist. I hope I am wrong.”

She eyed him carefully. Something wasn’t right here. “Could I take a look at Genitivi’s research? I might be able to determine his whereabouts.”

“N-No!” he blurted out rather suddenly, but drew back the intensity of his voice. “I mean…I know where he supposedly went, but I wouldn’t want you to suffer the same fate…”

Narrowing her gaze, she lowered her voice. “You sound nervous. Hiding something?”

“That’s n-not true…I told you everything I know…” he sputtered.

“In that case, you won’t mind if we take a look around, will you?” she questioned as she approached a door at the back of the room. “After all, you’ve got nothing to hide right?”

As she reached for the door handle, he growled, “Don’t go in there!”

That settled it. Something was back there. She made to turn the handle, but the moment she did, he let out a roar of objection and summoned crackling lightning through his fingertips. She rolled out of the way as fast as she could and pulled out her crossbow while the others did the same with their own weapons. They felled the man without much effort and Manon looked down at him momentarily. What was he hiding that was worth risking his life over?

She returned to the door and entered like she had initially planned to. Inside, they discovered several journals which she suspected related to Genitivi’s research, but the thing that immediately caught their interest was a body that lay slumped in a corner. Manon hurriedly approached it, and realized that whoever it was had been dead for quite some time. There wasn’t even an odor anymore. This wasn’t Genitivi, was it? There had to be some answers here…

They all worked together to search through the journals before finally coming across a clue. It seemed that the scholar’s research had directed him to the village of Haven and that he had set off there several months ago. In that case, the body on the ground most likely belonged to someone else. While Manon felt pity for whomever it was that had fallen victim to this strange situation, she felt incredible relief that Genitivi was still out there and that they would be able to find him.

She pulled out the map from her bag, which Alistair had relinquished to her some time ago, and laid it out on the table. After some intense searching, she was able to locate the tiny village situated in the Frostbacks on the opposite side of Lake Calenhad. In that case, it would probably make the most sense to head to the Circle of Magi next before making their way to Haven. There was still personal business within the city that needed to be attended to, though, so they would head out in the morning.

Thinking they deserved a bit of a break, the group made their way to the local Inn and reserved three rooms. They’d been camping for weeks on end and it would be nice to have some decent beds to sleep in for once. Morrigan elected to retreat to her room, claiming she had some reading to catch up on. Manon figured that would be for the best anyway. She probably wanted nothing to do with the activities she and Alistair were up to. Truffles rubbed up against her, whining softly before letting out a small yawn.

Reaching down to scratch him behind the ears, Manon smiled. “Are you tired, boy? D’you wanna go take a nap.”

He gave a quick yelp of approval and she chuckled. She briefly excused herself to let the mabari into her room and he immediately curled up on the bed, drifting off to sleep. Once she locked the door, she met Alistair back in the tavern and announced she was ready to begin the search.

\------

As they entered the marketplace, Alistair looked about frequently, in search of the house that possessed the address on the sheet of paper he carried. When they passed one particularly shabby-looking home, he did a double take before ushering Manon over.

“That’s my sister’s house. I’m almost sure of it…yes, this is the right address.” He glanced up to the door with a hopeful look in his eye. “She could be inside…Could we…go and see?”

“Are you sure you want me to come along?” she asked tentatively.

He let out a shaky laugh in response. “To tell the truth, I’m a bit nervous. I was hoping you’d come with for, um…moral support.”

Her face lightened a bit at his remark and she chuckled. “Alright, then. Let’s go.”

They entered the small house and Alistair called out to see if anyone was home. “Uh…hello?”

“Eh, you have linens to wash?” a redheaded woman replied as she rounded the corner. “I charge three bits on the bundle, you won’t find better. And don’t trust what that Natalia woman tells you, either. She’s foreign and she’ll rob you blind.”

“I’m…not here to have any wash done,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I’m…well, this may sound sort of strange,” he started with some hesitation. “But are you Goldanna? If so…I suppose I’m your brother.”

“My what?” She threw him a look of confusion and spoke with a slightly guarded tone. “I am Goldanna, yes…How do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?”

“Look…our mother…she worked as a serving girl in Redcliffe a long time ago before she died. Do you know about that? She- ”

He was abruptly cut off when Goldanna threw an accusatory finger at him. “You! I  _knew_  it! They told me you was dead! They told me the babe was dead along with mother, but I knew they was lyin’!”

“They told you I was dead?” he asked with shock. “Who? Who told you that?”

“Them’s at the castle! I told them the babe was the king’s and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way!” She crossed her arms and grunted for emphasis. “I knew it!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that…” Alistair said slowly, unsure what to make of the information she was spewing. “The babe didn’t die. I’m him. I’m…your brother.”

She scoffed in return and threw him a disgusted look. “For all the good it does me. You killed Mother, you did, and I’ve had to scrape by all this time? That coin didn’t last long and when I went back, they ran me off!”

“That’s hardly Alistair’s fault, is it?” Manon interjected. She had tried to remain on the sidelines to let them work this out amongst themselves, but she couldn’t just stand by and listen to this woman blame him incessantly.

Goldanna turned her sharp gaze to Manon and snapped, “And who in the Maker’s name are you? Some elf to follow him about and carry his riches for him?”

Manon felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach and she instantly grew silent. The feeling didn’t last long, though, because Alistair quickly jumped to her defense.

“Hey! Don’t speak to her that way!” he said firmly, placing himself between Manon and his sister. “She’s my friend and a Grey Warden, just like me!”

“Ohhh, I see!” she replied with feigned admiration. “A prince and a Grey Warden, too. Well…who am I to think poorly of someone so  _high and mighty_  compared to me?” Narrowing her gaze, she continued, “I don’t know you,  _boy_. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing. They tricked me good. I should’ve told everyone!” Throwing her hands on her hips, she continued barking at the pair. “I’ve got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I've got less than no use for you.”

“I…I’m sorry, I…don’t know what to say,” Alistair stuttered, clearly dumbfounded.

“Goldanna…” Manon started gently. “Alistair came here hoping to find his family.” She hoped she might be able to persuade her to reconsider…They  _were_  family, after all.

“Well, he found it,” she replied cynically. “And what good is that to me? None, that’s what. Now get out of my house, the both of you!” she spat.

“C’mon…let’s get out of here,” Alistair muttered as he and Manon made their way to the door.

Upon exiting the house, Alistair let out a defeated sigh. “Well, that was…not what I expected, to put it lightly…” He shook his head in disbelief. “This is the family I’ve been wondering about all my life? That  _shrew_  is my sister? I can’t believe it…I-I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn’t that what family is supposed to do?” He let his head hang in exasperation. “I feel like a complete idiot…”

Manon looked at him, concern evident on her face. She had known that Alistair certainly had an innocent, idealistic way of looking at the world, but she hadn’t realized just how naïve he really was. Who knew how many more people would walk all over him if he kept this approach up? While she didn’t want to break his spirit, she knew she had to say something on the matter.

“You’re not an idiot, but…you really do need to stand up for yourself.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right…I should,” he uttered quietly. “Let’s just go…I don’t want to talk about this anymore…”

Manon frowned slightly. She’d been looking forward to reuniting Alistair with his long-lost sister…He’d gone out of his way to cheer her up on more than one occasion and she’d been hoping she could do the same for him. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her.

“Hey, I know! Why don’t you come meet my family? I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”

He didn’t respond, but his face did brighten a bit upon seeing her enthusiasm.

As Manon rushed across the marketplace, she suddenly realized just how much she’d missed her family. The excitement bubbled up in her chest and the grin on her face spread wider. She’d get to see Shianni and Soris and her father again! She knew Alistair and Soris would hit it off right away; their sense of humor was so similar after, all.

When she reached the entrance to the Alienage, though, her smile faded and she stopped dead in her tracks. The gates were shut. Frantically, she searched about for a guard and ran up to him.

“Excuse me! Could you please open the gates? I need to get inside…”

“By order of the new Arl of Denerim, no one is to enter the Alienage,” he replied in a dull, uninterested voice.

“What?! What’s happened?” she questioned with distress.

“There’s been an elven uprising,” he explained. “The Arl’s only son was killed in cold blood. With the whole Urien family dead, the Regent appointed Rendon Howe of Amaranthine the new Arl of Denerim. First thing he did was lead a purge of the Alienage.”

As the guard revealed more information, Manon could feel her blood turn to ice as she stared ahead blankly. She’d surrendered. She’d given herself up to save her people, and still they were being slaughtered. She should have known this would happen. When the guard finished his explanation, she hurried up to the gates and fiercely gripped the slats of wood. She desperately tried to look inside, to get a glimpse of someone –  _anyone_.

What did he mean by a purge? Were they only killing those who resisted, or were they simply massacring every innocent that got in their way? The thought made her sick. Was Shianni safe? Maker, she prayed she was. All of this would be for nothing if it meant she couldn’t even save her cousin. Her breathing quickly grew uneven and she shuddered against the gate. She’d wanted to show Alistair that even if his family didn’t want him, that there was a place for him in her family.

She didn’t flinch when he laid his hand upon her shoulder, but it did take some coaxing before she was able to return his gaze.

“I think we could both use a drink right about now,” he offered shyly. “What do you say?”

Though she still felt on the verge of tears, she couldn’t help but smile at his suggestion. A drink was exactly what she needed.

\------

“So…” Manon chimed with a stupid grin. “Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”

He practically did a spit-take at her question and spurred into a coughing fit as he choked on the liquid that ended up entering his windpipe. Why had she waited until he’d taken a drink to spring that question on him? As he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, he dared a glance at her. Her elbow rested on the table with her cheek leaning into her palm and she gazed at him with sultry eyes. Maker, she was never this forward when she was sober.

“Not unless they were asking me for a favor, no…” he said with hesitation, but then a wicked grin spread across his face. He’d turn this around on her yet. “Why? Is this your way of telling me  _you_  think I’m handsome?”

Ordinarily, she might have become flustered and attempted to change the topic, but in her current state, she was uncharacteristically flirty. She mimicked the motion of zipping her lips shut and cocked her head to the side. “My lips are sealed,” she teased.

After several more glasses of brandy, the pair’s faces had flushed to significantly deeper shades of red. Manon swayed slightly as she continued with her flirtatious prodding.

“Okay, so tell me…if you were raised in the chantry, have you never…?” She hoped he’d get her drift. Even in her drunken stupor, she was still too embarrassed to outright ask him anything related to sex.

He clearly got the hint, if the smirk that appeared on his face was any indication, but as per usual, he took the route of avoiding the question. “Never…? Never what? Had a good pair of shoes?”

“You know what I mean,” she insisted.

“I’m not sure I do,” he said, feigning ignorance. “Have I never seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?”

She pouted slightly in response. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

His grin widened significantly and he laughed. “Make fun of  _you_ , dear lady?  _Perish the thought!_ ” Leaning in closer, his voice quickly turned low and seductive. “Well, tell me: Have  _you_  ever  _licked a lamppost_  in winter?” He ran his tongue across his lips for extra emphasis.

“As a matter of fact, I have!” she exclaimed. “Shianni dared me to! And Soris had to get a bucket of hot water to get me loose!” She gazed up at him beneath hooded eyes and added, “But I suppose that’s a different kind of lamppost from what you had in mind now, isn’t it?”

“Oh! Is  _that_  what we’re talking about then?” he asked in a pseudo-innocent voice. “I, myself…never had the  _pleasure_ …Not that I haven’t thought about it, of course, but…y’know…”

“Oh, that’s so cute! You’re a virgin!” she cooed.

“ _Cute_?” He let out a small whine of protest. “Well…hearing that from a beautiful woman does make me feel much luckier. I’ll say that.”

Manon’s mouth fell open and she could have sworn her heart stopped. “You think I’m beautiful?” she breathed in astonishment.

“Of course you are, and you know it!” he asserted. But when he noticed the way she looked down at herself with uncertainty, his eyes widened with realization. “Only…you don’t know it…do you?”

The look of utter doubt in her eyes confirmed his suspicions and he let out a small sigh. “Maker’s breath…” He leaned forward and grasped Manon’s hand in his own, clutching it tenderly. “When I gave you that rose…when I said it reminded me of you, I meant it. Every word.”

Though she still appeared unsure, her eyes lit up at his words and her lips spread into a small smile. She gazed up at him dreamily. “You’re such a charmer…” she hummed softly, her eyelids slowly getting heavier.

Alistair couldn’t help but focus on her lips as she swayed side to side. They seemed so soft…so warm. He wondered what they would feel like… _taste_  like. He wanted to find out. Slowly, he leaned closer, until his lips were mere inches from hers.

Before he could close the distance, though, he was halted when he heard a small  _thud_. Opening his eyes, he looked down to see that Manon had fallen asleep right on the table. It was then that his actions caught up with his mind and he quickly slapped his hand over his mouth, his eyes going wide. He’d just tried to kiss her!  _Kiss her!_  Maker, was he really that drunk? Where had that idea even come from?

Slowly, he looked down at her and attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. She looked so peaceful, her back rising and falling gently with each breath. He tenderly reached forward and brushed a lock of auburn hair from her face. He couldn’t help but smile upon seeing her like this. Everything about her warmed his heart. The way her eyelids fluttered as she dreamt, the rosy pink tint of her lips, the constellations of freckles that adorned her face. He loved it all and wanted nothing more than to protect her.

A soft snore shook him from his thoughts and he let out a chuckle before standing up. He swiftly reached down and gathered her into his arms and was surprised to find just how little she weighed. She didn’t stir once as he brought her up to her room. When he opened the door, Truffles lifted his head to investigate the source of the sound, but upon noticing the familiar human, quickly went back to sleep.

As gently as possibly, Alistair laid her down in the bed and pulled the covers over her. She immediately snuggled into them and began mumbling something inaudible, which only made his smile grow wider. With some hesitation, he knelt down beside her and softly ran the back of his hand across her forehead.

How long had he felt his way, he wondered. When she mumbled something that resembled his name, his eyes filled to the brim with affection. Slowly, he bent down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. He had his answer.

It had been from the moment they met.


	12. I See the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a sloth demon traps Manon and her party in the Fade, she finally comes to terms with her emotions towards a certain Grey Warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up writing this chapter rather quickly, haha...I was just super excited to get to this part. o3o

Manon had no idea what to expect of the Circle. She was never very familiar with the concept of mages and hadn’t even heard of templars until she met Alistair. When they arrived at Lake Calenhad, the weather was incredibly gloomy, a thick fog rolling across the lake’s surface. The tower stood eerily in the center of the body of water, foreboding and isolated. From this distance, it seemed more like a prison than anything else.

Upon reaching the tower proper, the party entered largely unnoticed as everyone inside appeared to be scrambling about, barking orders and dealing with some sort of mishap. Something about their looks of panic told Manon that this was not a typical circumstance for them. Quickly scanning the room in search of someone who might have the answers, her gaze landed on one man who was issuing orders to another. He was as good a place to start as any.

As she approached, she caught the tail end of his command. “…and I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times. Do not open them without my express consent. Is that clear?”

The templar gave a nod of affirmation before heading off to fulfil his duties.

“The doors are barred…” Alistair muttered. “Are they keeping people out? Or in?”

“Excuse me…Could you tell me what’s going on here?” Manon asked, trying to get the man’s attention.

“We are dealing with a very delicate situation. You must leave, for your own safety,” he responded hurriedly, not bothering to wonder who she was or why she was here.

“I-” She cleared her throat before steadying her voice slightly. “I’m here because of the Blight. The mages have an obligation to the Grey Wardens. I have the treaties right here if you need proof…”

The man let out a low groan and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I am weary of the Grey Wardens’ ceaseless need for men to fight the darkspawn…but it is their right.” He glanced over his shoulder briefly before sighing once more. “You’ll find no allies here. The templars can spare no men and the mages are…indisposed. I shall speak plainly. The tower is no longer under our control.” He gestured to the doorway behind him for emphasis. “Abominations and demons stalk the tower’s halls. The Circle is lost. The tower has fallen.”

Demons? Like what happened with Connor? Though she wasn’t clear on the details, Manon understood the situation was dire.

“How did this happen?”

“We don’t know,” he admitted. “We saw only demons, hunting templars and mages alike. I realized we could not defeat them and told my men to flee.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I have sent word to Denerim, calling for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment.”

“The…Right of Annulment?” she asked with a look of confusion.

“It gives the templars the authority to neutralize the mage Circle. Completely.”

Manon’s eyes widened in fear. They could do that? To all those people?

“The mages are probably already dead,” Alistair uttered solemnly. “Any abominations remaining in there must be dealt with no matter what.”

Manon quickly threw him a look of bewilderment. How could he say that? She had to admit she wasn’t entirely familiar with the concepts of mages or abominations, but there had to be at least some innocents inside…After what happened with Connor, she wanted to do everything in her power to save anyone else from the same fate.

“The situation is dire. There is no alternative – everything in the tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again!” the templar barked firmly.

Manon gritted her teeth as she stared down the man before her. There had to be another solution. “What about the innocents? Surely they can be saved!”

   “If any are still alive, the Maker himself has shielded them. No one could have survived those monstrous creatures…It is too painful to hope for survivors and find…nothing,” he replied with resignation.

“I will search for them, then,” she declared, her glare intensified.

Furrowing his brows, he responded with skepticism, “I assure you, an abomination is a force to be reckoned with and you will face more than one.”

“Even so, I will go.” Keeping her gaze firm, refused to back down.

After a while, the templar finally gave in and allowed them to enter. As he brought them before the entrance, he spoke ominously. “A word of caution…Once you cross this threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred. I will open them for no one until I have proof that it is safe. I will only believe it is over if the first enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen…then the Circle is lost and must be destroyed,” he finished gravely. “May Andraste lend you her courage, whatever you decide.”

As they entered the doors, Manon took note of the overwhelming amount of blood that lined the walls and wrinkled her nose. The rooms they passed through looked like classrooms…Several of the desks still had half-written assignments on them, several of which were dotted red. She tried not to think about what might have happened to the students and instead focused on rescuing the ones who were still alive.

When they entered a chamber at the end of the hall, they were forced to stop abruptly. Inside, a fiery creature, likely a demon, was growling fiercely, aimed to strike a group of mages that had gathered inside. Manon was about to ready her weapons with the intention of helping, but before she was able, an elder mage was already swiftly casting frost spells. She brought her staff down fiercely, shattering the beast into millions of tiny pieces.

Relieved that the danger had passed, Manon stepped further into the room, about to ask if everyone was alright, but the old woman halted her with a forceful tone. “Stop right there. Take another step and I swear I will strike you down where you stand.”

Manon raised her hands defensively and spoke cautiously. “Easy…I mean you no harm. I’m here to help.”  
The woman looked her over hesitantly, but backed down for the moment. “I am Wynne, a mage of the Circle, and these children are under my protection.”

It was then that Manon was able to fully properly take in her surroundings. Aside from Wynne, there were five other mages in the room; two of which were likely in their mid-teens while the other three were much smaller. One girl clutched onto an older mage’s robe for protection while the other two sat huddled in the corner, whimpering slightly.

“Who are you?” Wynne continued with her questioning. “And what is your purpose here? Have the templars opened the door? Speak quickly – I’ll have no time for games,” she said curtly.

“My name is Manon, and these are my companions…Alistair and Morrigan,” she gestured to each appropriately. “I’m here to help in any way I can…” She paused momentarily, attempting to find the right words to continue. “The-The templars said they called for the Right of Annulment. It hasn’t arrived yet, but…”

“So Gregoir thinks the Circle is beyond hope…” she sighed with defeat. “He probably assumes we are all dead.” She began pacing in an attempt to vent her frustrations. “They abandoned us to our fate, but even as we are, we have survived.” She went on to explain the barrier she placed over the door, meant to guard the children from the horrors in the rest of the tower. She propositioned to remove it on the condition that she join Manon on her quest to save the tower, to which she readily agreed.

“Once Gregoir sees that we have made the tower safe, I trust he will tell his men to back down. He is not unreasonable.”

Manon bit down on her lip slightly, hesitant to speak. “He…said he wouldn’t believe it was safe until he spoke to the first enchanter…”

“Then our task is clear. We must make our way to Irving and rescue him before it is too late.”

Morrigan had been relatively quiet up until that point, but she finally spoke up, directing her attention to Manon. “You want to assist this preachy schoolmistress? To rescue these pathetic excuses for mages?”

“Yes,” she replied bluntly.

Though Morrigan raised her eyebrows in a challenging manner, she conceded to Manon’s wishes and did not bring it up again.

Wynne assigned the two younger mages with the task of protecting the children while she was away and once everything was settled, they set off with haste.

\------

As they got higher into the tower, the sights they came across only grew more disturbing. It hadn’t taken long for Manon to learn exactly what abominations were. To be brief, they were monstrosities whose flesh was raw and bulbous. Upon nearing the top of the tower, a similar fleshy substance seemed to be growing out of the walls in certain parts. She was careful to avoid it, but the sight still made her stomach turn.

They ultimately neared a large chamber, which appeared to be the source of the strange substance. A large spire of it grew from the center of the room and a creature that resembled the other abominations stood beside it.

It slowly turned to face the party and droned on in a tired voice, “Oh, look…Visitors. I’d entertain you, but…” It sighed. “Too much effort involved.”

Wary to get closer, Manon eyed the creature carefully. None of the abominations they’d run into thus far had been capable of speech. For the most part, they were mindless, rampaging beasts. Something told her to remain on her guard.

It tilted its head to the side, looking the group over. “Wouldn’t you like to just lay down and…forget about all this? Leave it all behind?” Its voice was oddly soothing…Manon found it difficult to concentrate.

“Can’t…keep eyes open…” Alistair groaned, holding a hand to his forehead. “Someone…pinch… me…” His eyelids began to droop closed as he swayed back and forth.

“This is ridiculous…” Morrigan attempted to stifle a yawn, to no avail. “You cannot expect me to rest on a floor sticky with blood…”

“Resist! You must resist, else we are all lost!” Wynne urged, though it was obvious she, too, was tiring quickly. Even Truffles was having difficulty keeping his eyes open.

Manon’s vision was quickly growing blurry. No! She wouldn’t be pulled into this trap! They had to…had to…

“Why do you fight?” it murmured softly. “You deserve more…You deserve a  _rest_. The world will go on without you…”

It was no use. She could no longer muster the energy to stand. In an instant, her world faded to black.

\------

“Wake up, sleepyhead…”

Manon felt the soft brush of lips against the back of her neck and slowly opened her eyes, blinking them open with confusion. “I…wha-?”

She was at home, lying in bed. Wait, no…this wasn’t her bed. This was the main bedroom where her father normally slept. She turned over her shoulder to see who lay beside her and her expression grew even more perplexed. “Nelaros?”

A warm smile spread across his face and he reached over to cup her cheek. “Awake at last, my love?”

“I…what are you doing here?” she asked in bewilderment, unable to piece her thoughts together.

“What a silly question!” he said with a chuckle. “It’s only natural that a couple should sleep together after their wedding, isn’t it?”

“W-Wedding?” Her face only grew more confused by the minute.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” He let out a hearty laugh. “I knew Shianni gave you too much to drink.”

“I…wait…” Furrowing her brow, she tried to focus. She remembered…a wedding, yes…She was at the altar, when…when…

She groaned in frustration. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember the rest of the ceremony. Nelaros stretched forward to pull her closer and ran his fingers through her hair. “Don’t fret…we’ll have plenty of time to make new memories together.”

He was so warm and comfortable that she couldn’t help but return his embrace. And yet…Something felt off. Pushing away from him slightly, she looked around the room. There was always a certain someone who greeted her happily every morning, but for some reason they weren’t here… What was their name again?

“Is something wrong, my dear?” he asked, concern etching on his face.

Suddenly it dawned on her who was missing.

“Where’s Alistair?” she inquired, looking about more frantically.

Cocking his head to the side, he asked, “Who?”

“He…He’s a friend of mine. I…I spoke to him not long ago…Right?” She looked down to her hands in an attempt to recollect her thoughts. Wait…had she? Something wasn’t adding up. Why would Alistair be in the Alienage?

He scoffed lightly at her remark. “Who needs that shem, anyway? I’m here…I’m all you need.” He tenderly gripped her hand, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“I…” she muttered, biting down on her lip. No. This was wrong. Where was Alistair? He wouldn’t just leave her like this…

She started to grow worried and quickly slipped out of Nelaros’ grasp. “I’m sorry, I…I need to go look for him,” she stuttered, stumbling from the bed.

“Don’t!” His loud voice startled her and he attempted to draw back the intensity. “I mean…Stay. Please…” It appeared like he was forcing himself to wear a smile, which only increased Manon’s panic.

“I-I can’t…” She made a mad dash for the door, but was shocked to find it locked. Frantically, she attempted to jiggle it and pushed her body against the wooden surface, but it wouldn’t budge. When a growl came from behind her, she quickly turned around in fear.

“No! You cannot leave! YOU BELONG TO ME!” Nelaros hollered in a voice that did not belong to him. He made to leap at her, but she let out a small shriek before tumbling out of the way in time. She scrambled to her feet in desperation and reached for the top drawer of the dresser.

 _Please let it be here, please let it be here…_  She thought hurriedly as she flung several articles of clothing from the drawer. She let out a gasp of relief when her hand landed on the handle of the dagger her mother had stashed there years ago. In one smooth motion, she pulled it from the dresser and held it out just as Nelaros was rounding on her. Wincing slightly, she darted forward to stab her former betrothed in the stomach.

Choking and retching, he desperately clasped at the wound before falling over. The moment he did, the scenery around them began to crumble away and his body quickly dissolved to resemble what Manon assumed to be a demon.

She fell to her knees, panting for breath and struggling to regain her bearings.

Gradually, she turned her gaze to the sky and looked around. The sky was a purplish tint of grey, almost entirely clouded over and the ground consisted of some sort of white stone. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen before. Even so, there was something familiar about it.

Now that the demon had been slain, her memories had finally returned to her. The last thing she remembered was fighting through the tower…and then they came across that strange abomination. Perhaps it had put them to sleep, in which case, she must be in the Fade.

She swallowed before looking down at the demon’s corpse. It had peeked into her mind to try and create a scenario that she’d never want to leave. In some ways, it almost succeeded. It was true that Manon yearned to return to the Alienage, and she did want to live happily ever after with the love of her life. But after living through that scene, Manon came to a realization. She’d cared about Nelaros, yes, and had she married him, she probably would have been very happy, but he was far from the love of her life. No…the one she had thought of in that moment had been none other than…Alistair.

Her breath hitched slightly and she brought a hand to her chest. Alistair. She couldn’t help but let out a chuckle as the recognition set in. Of course. It had always been Alistair.

Ever since they’d met at Ostagar, he’d been there to shield her, to lend a helping hand, to remind her that she was so much more than her faults. That  _he_  thought of her as something more. She loved him.

She let out another bout of ridiculous laughter. She loved him. Andraste as her witness, she loved him!

She suddenly became very aware of her solitude. The others had to be somewhere nearby, though. Quickly, she rose to her feet and attempted to find her balance. They were probably stuck in scenarios similar to hers…In which case, she would need to save them.

She ran ahead in what she believed to be the right direction, her face a mixture of worry and excitement. She loved Alistair. She had finally admitted it to herself. Now she just needed to rescue him.


	13. No One Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manon has managed to free her companions from the Fade, except for Alistair, who is too captivated by his illusion to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long...I've had a lot on my plate lately. (Plus I wanted to make sure I did this chapter justice...which I hopefully accomplished.)

How long had it been since Manon entered the Fade? Was it hours? Weeks? She couldn’t be sure. The passage of time seemed insignificant when compared to the seemingly infinite expanses of where she was trapped. She’d assumed that the other members of her party had been close by, if at least somewhat, but apparently this realm of the Fade was much larger than she had initially anticipated. She spent who knows how much time searching for strange pedestals, which ultimately led her to other pockets of reality within the Fade.

She searched endlessly for her companions, and after scouring the various regions for what seemed like an eternity, she ultimately was successful in rescuing Morrigan, Wynne, and Truffles from their respective nightmares. Morrigan hadn’t been at all impressed by the demon’s attempt to pass as her mother; she was well aware of its trickery and came willingly. Truffles, thankfully, was also unharmed by the time she found him. He’d been curled up in a ball, tossing restlessly in his sleep, but was otherwise fine. Wynne, however, had been much more difficult to convince. She’d been wrapped up in guilt, surrounded by the bodies of her fallen students. With enough prying, though, Manon was able to convince her that it was an illusion and she, like the others, vanished before her eyes.

Manon wasn’t sure where they went after she freed them, but she assumed it was somewhere good. She wondered if perhaps it was because they were awoken upon realizing the reality of their situation, but if that were the case, why was she still in the Fade? Perhaps it was because she’d yet to find Alistair. Maybe she’d be released once she freed him…

She was beginning to lose hope that she’d ever find him, though. She kept returning to areas she’d already seen on several occasions; it felt like she was going in circles. But she refused to give up. She had to rescue him no matter what. Once they were safe, she swore she would tell him how she felt.

Just as she was about to give up hope, she arrived in an unfamiliar area. That was a good sign, at least. She cautiously made her way down the path before approaching a large clearing. A long dinner table stretched out in the center of the clearing, set with numerous place settings. Several children ran around the area, giggling and scrambling after one another.

It wasn’t real, though. It was all a charade. Manon frantically searched the area before her eyes finally landed on Alistair and she let out a sigh of relief. He stood by the dinner table with…was that Goldanna?

Gulping slightly, Manon slowly approached the table. Perhaps this would be like Morrigan…Alistair would know that this was a dream and would come with her and they’d finally be rid of this awful mess.

Once she was within earshot, she called out hesitantly, “Um…Alistair?”

Turning his attention away from his sister, Alistair’s face brightened upon recognizing her. “Hey! It’s great to see you! I was just thinking about you, isn’t that a marvelous coincidence?”

His tone was…off. Something about it gave the vibe that he was drunk or...intoxicated in some other manner. Was he really that disillusioned by the demon’s trap? A feeling of excitement that bubbled up within her when he mentioned he was thinking of her, but she attempted to shake it away. She needed to focus on the task at hand.  

“Alistair, I…Could I talk to you for a moment?”

“Oh, sure, sure! But let me introduce you, first.” He stepped aside to gesture to the demon posing as his sister. “This is my sister, Goldanna, and these are her children. Can you believe it? I’m an uncle!” He let out an exuberant laugh. “We’re one big happy family, at long last…”

Manon felt her heart drop at his words.  _This_  was the dream that had been conjured for him? And he was fond enough of it that he  _believed_  it? She thought he’d worked past this back in Denerim.

“Um-yes, well…I’ve actually already met Goldanna,” she muttered nervously. “Back in Denerim, remember?”

His brows furrowed at her words and he paused. “I, uh…Huh…” He attempted to focus his memory, but his sister laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke smoothly, dispelling his insecurities.

“Never mind that. Ask her if she’ll be joining us for dinner.”

A smile sparked on his face and he turned back to Manon excitedly. “Say you’ll stay! Goldanna’s a great cook! Maybe she’ll make her mince pie!”

Manon’s expression grew more concerned by the second. He was so wrapped up in this fantasy that he was barely acknowledging her. And here she’d thought…

“Alistair…” she tried to keep her voice from cracking, with little success. “I-I can’t stay, and neither can you. We’re supposed to be saving the Circle mages.”

He gave a childish sigh in response. “You know…I’d really rather not. I  _thought_  being a Grey Warden would make me happy…doing all that heroic business, but it didn’t. I’m happy  _now_. I’m with my family.”

He made to turn back to the table, but Manon was determined to break him out of the spell. She stepped forward and firmly grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him to face her. “Alistair!” she cried, her face twisted with pain.

When he merely looked at her in confusion, she continued. “You…you can’t mean that! Even if you don’t care about your responsibilities…you…” She bit her lip, trying to gather the courage to say the next few words. “You care about me, don’t you?”

Though his gaze still seemed clouded, his eyes locked onto her and he uttered in a low voice, “I do.”

“Then please… _please_ …you have to see past this. This…” She stretched her arms out to gesture to the scene surrounding them. “This isn’t the family you wanted! We met Goldanna and she hated you! Why are you still clinging to this?” Her eyes were wide with desperation, trying to make him understand.

He narrowed his gaze and took a menacing step forward. “Why is it  _you_  think you know what’s best for me?”

“I-I don’t think that, I-!”

He cut her off. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life, and you want to just take that away from me?”

Why was he looking at her like that? Why was his voice filled with malice? Shaking his head indignantly, he began to turn away again, but she quickly caught him. Gripping each side of his face in her hands, she forcefully met his gaze.

“ _Alistair,_ ” she pleaded, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “Please…look at me. I’m the only thing that’s real here, surely you can see that?”

_I love you._

She wanted to say it. The words ached to fall from her lips, but she restrained herself. If it came to it, she would confess in order to save him, but for now, she felt too scared of what his reaction might be.

Her words barely seemed to faze him. He swiftly removed her hands and turned away without acknowledging her any further.

Horror struck her face and her breath left her as she fell to her knees, petrified with shock. As he made his way back to the table, she let her head fall in defeat while her hands hung limply at her sides. The tears she had been so desperately holding back began to stream silently down her face. Even if he did recognize that she was crying, she doubted it would affect him in his current state.

“I thought I was your family,” she finally uttered after a long moment of silence.

Confused, he turned over his shoulder to look at her.

She spoke slowly, carefully forming the right words in her raspy voice. “That day…when we met your sister…the one you can’t seem to remember…We were going to go to the Alienage.” Her breath wavered slightly, but she continued. “I was devastated to learn what was happening there, and you…you said we should go get a drink. And…you know what? I was so happy when you said that…You’re  _always_  thinking of me…” She lifted her head to reveal her tear-stained face. “I-I thought that I could show you that you had a place in my family…”

His full attention was on her now, his brow becoming etched with concern.

“That night at the tavern was so much fun, and…and…” She directed her agonized gaze at him and spoke at barely a whisper. “Do you really not remember any of that?”

His emotions finally became less clouded and the sympathetic look on his face turned into one of utter sorrow. “Oh, Manon…” He made to rush to her side. “Of course I do…”

Before he could reach her, though, Goldanna snarled, “No!”

The pair snapped their eyes back to look at her, a seething expression upon her face.

“Leave her be, brother. This  _elven wench_  isn’t worthy of your time.”

The cracks in Manon’s heart deepened and she feared her resolve would shatter any moment now. If Alistair even remotely agreed with her, she knew that would be her breaking point.

Luckily, he did no such thing. At her words, his gaze immediately hardened and he turned slowly to look her in the eye. “I recall you said something similar…the first time we met.” He set his jaw and his tone didn’t waver. “Or…was that the  _real_  Goldanna?”

Rage filled the eyes of the imposter and a deep, booming voice echoed from her throat. “You should have stayed ignorant and blissful! You are  _ours_! I would rather see you dead than free!”

One by one, each of the illusions fractured, giving way to a horde of demons. Though Alistair was shocked at the revelation, he was prepared to fight. Together, they managed to make quick work of the creatures.

Panting, Alistair turned his attention to Manon, hesitation in his eyes. “Manon, I…” Before he could continue, a light began to emanate from his body and he looked down at himself in confusion. “Wait…what’s happening?”

And then, just like her other companions, he was gone. She waited a moment, still attempting to catch her breath, but when nothing happened, she grew panicked.

She’d rescued them all. She’d searched every inch of the place, but there hadn’t been any sign of escape. She had assumed that once her companions were free, she would awaken as well. If that was the case, why was she still here? She crumpled to the floor, feeling completely and utterly alone.

Just as she was about to lose hope, something strange happened. A small ball of light appeared before her, flickering slightly. Confused, she raised her head to look at it more clearly. What was happening now?

Once it was sure it had her attention, the orb hung in the air a moment longer before it dove into the ground. It soon manifested as a pair of glowing footprints, which began to lead back down the trail Manon had come from. She rose to her feet with uncertainty, but ultimately decided to follow the tracks. Even if it was a trap, she didn’t have any other leads to go on.

The footprints led her back to the pedestal and she looked it over before approaching it with a heavy sigh. Though she had no idea where it would take her next, she had no choice but to comply. She reached out to place her hand in the shallow water and felt herself being whisked away like before.

Upon reaching her destination, she felt a mixture of relief and apprehension. She’d yet to explore this area of the Fade, which meant her final task was likely to be completed here. The premise of escape excited her, but she feared what might be waiting for her around the corner.

Regardless, she rushed ahead, eager to be rid of this nightmare once and for all. As she rounded the corner, she took notice of the tall, lanky figure that stood in the center of the clearing. It was nothing but skin and bones and donned strange robes. Perhaps this was the demon in charge of the realm?

Slowly, ever so slowly, it turned to face her. A helmet covered its eyes, but she could feel its menacing gaze from underneath. “What do we have here?” It droned deliberately. “A rebellious minion? An escaped slave?” A deep chuckle escaped its throat. “My, my…but you do have some gall.” It quickly dropped the condescending laughter in favor of a more serious tone. “But I’m afraid playtime is over. You all have to go back now.”

_You all?_

Just as Manon was attempting to determine what he meant, a familiar voice appeared behind her.

“Um…where are we?”

Whipping her head around, she was shocked to find her companions gathered behind her, each glancing about in bewilderment.

She couldn’t help but smile at their presence. She wasn’t as alone as she’d thought after all.

With a newfound determination, she returned her attention to the sloth demon, hardening her gaze. It was gritting its teeth in irritation, its patience running thin. “If you go back quietly, I’ll do better this time. I’ll make you much happier.” 

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather find my own happiness.”

“I made you happy and safe. I gave you peace. I did my best for you and you say you want to leave?” it chided, feigning disappointment. “Can’t you think about someone other than yourself? I’m hurt. So very, very hurt.”

Refusing to back down, Manon’s expression remained unchanged. “I’ll take my chances.”

Its mouth curling back into a sneer, it replied with a biting tone. “So be it…you will learn to bow to your betters, mortal.” It hunched forward, readying itself to spring forward into battle.

For a being that was supposedly the embodiment of laziness, it was surprisingly fast. Even so, they’d taken on numerous substantial foes before and this battle differed very little from them.

After felling the sloth demon, Manon could feel the world begin to shake around her. Before she had time to react properly, though, she was briskly pulled back to reality and jolted awake.

Struggling to catch her breath, she searched around the room to find her companions waking up as well. The abomination they had encountered earlier lay dead on the ground as proof of their victory. As she gradually regained her strength, Manon pushed herself to her feet, attempting to regain her balance.

“Is everyone all right?” she muttered hazily.

“Ugh…Define ‘all right’…” Alistair mumbled, rubbing his temples.

Brushing imaginary dirt off her shoulders, Morrigan responded without lifting her gaze, “A bit unsettled, but otherwise no worse for wear.”

“Come, we must proceed,” Wynne urged, gripping her staff for support. “We’ve nearly reached the top.”

As they entered one of the next chambers, they stopped abruptly in their tracks. At the base of the stairs, a strange purple force field surrounded a young man, trapping him. He soon took notice of them and grew anxious in response, backing away slightly.

“This trick again? I know what you are. It won’t work.” He took a knee, clasping his hands together in prayer. “I will stay strong…”

“The boy is exhausted,” Wynne noted sympathetically. “And this cage…I’ve never seen anything like it.” She turned her gentile gaze to him and spoke softly, “Rest easy…help is here.”

“Enough visions!” he groaned. “If anything in you is human…kill me now and stop this game.”

Visions? Was he perhaps talking about the sloth demon? Wait…no, that didn’t make sense. That had occurred in the Fade. He was speaking as though he encountered such illusions in the waking world.

“Filthy blood mages…getting in my head,” he grunted in exasperation.  “I will not break…I’d rather die.”

Speaking in a subdued voice, Manon attempted to convey that she wasn’t a threat. “It’s all right. We’re not a vision. We’ve come to help.”

“Silence! I’ll not listen to anything you say! Now begone!” he shouted. He shut his eyes tight, but upon opening them, was taken aback. “Still here? But that’s always worked before…”

“Like I said,” Manon began cautiously. “I am no illusion. I’m here to help.”

“Don’t blame me for being cautious…” he said, half-apologetically. “The voices…the images…so real…” He paused slightly, the reality of the situation catching up with him. “Did Gregoir send you? How…how did you get here?”

“I’m a Grey Warden. I’m trying to help save this tower.”

“Good,” he breathed. “Kill Uldred. Kill them all for what they’ve done. They caged us like animals…looked for ways to break us. I’m the only one left…” he explained in a desperate, exhausted voice. “They turned some into monsters and…there was nothing I could do.”

“What about Irving and the other mages? Where are they?”

“What others?! What are you talking about?” he snapped angrily.

“Irving and the other mages who fought Uldred,” Wynne explained calmly.

“They are in the Harrowing Chamber… The  _sounds_  coming up from there…Oh, Maker…” he said in horror, his voice cracking.

“We must hurry…They are in grave danger, I am sure of it,” Wynne muttered with urgency.

“You can’t save them!” the templar insisted. “You don’t know what they’ve become.”

Manon attempted to hide the look of bewilderment she threw him, to no avail. He wasn’t serious, was he? She had managed to gather that he was a templar, and while she was aware they weren’t exactly fond of mages, she figured they had more compassion than  _this_.

“We can’t just kill them all,” she retorted.

“You don’t understand!” he hollered. “They’ve been surrounded b-by blood mages whose  _wicked_  fingers snake into your mind and  _corrupt_  your thoughts!”

“His hatred of mages is so intense…” Alistair mumbled as he looked at the man in pity. “The memory of his friends’ deaths is still fresh in his mind.”

“You have to end it now, before it’s too late!”

Her lips pressing firmly together, Manon could quickly feel her irritation rising. “I refuse to kill any innocent people.”

Not after what happened with Connor. The guilt still ate at her and if there was even a slight chance she could save any of the mages here, she was going to take it.

“Are you really saving anyone by taking this risk?” he reprimanded. “To ensure this horror is ended…to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you  _must_  kill  _everyone_  up there.”

There was no point hiding her anger anymore. He wasn’t going to listen to her. “I said I will not have more innocent blood on my hands and I’m not about to go back on my word!” she barked. Her hands bunched up to fists and she quickly turned her gaze to the floor, glaring at the space before her.

“Thank you…” Wynne uttered softly, as if in attempt to calm her. “I knew you would make a rational decision.”

“Rational?! How is this rational?” he snapped. “Do you understand the danger?!”

Despite the circumstances, Wynne continued to speak in a calm, collected voice. “I know full well the dangers of magic, but killing innocents because they might be maleficarum is not justice.”

He scoffed at them in return. “I am just willing to see the painful truth, which you are content to ignore!” He let out an aggravated sigh. “But what can I do? As you can see, I am in no position to directly influence your actions…though I would love to deal with the mages myself,” he said through gritted teeth.

Manon let out her own frustrated sigh before speaking. “The Harrowing Chamber is just up this flight of stairs, yes? Then we should be back shortly.”

“No one ever listens…not until it is far too late,” he grunted to himself, shaking his head in aggravation. Glaring at her with intense disdain, he muttered unenthusiastically, “Maker turn his gaze on you…I hope your  _compassion_  hasn’t doomed us all.”

She hoped she would be able to prove him wrong. She’d thought that killing Connor was the right choice; the necessary one. But if she had tried just a little bit harder…she might have been able to save him. Now was her chance to make a difference.

She certainly wasn’t looking forward to whatever waited at the stop of the stairs, though.


	14. Fooling Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After freeing the mages of the Circle, Manon and Alistair finally reveal their feelings to one another and share their first kiss in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're about halfway through the story and our protagonists finally admit they're head over heels for each other! 
> 
> (And get their smooch on, for added measure. :D )

As Manon ascended the staircase, she could make out the muffled sound of screams and what sounded like lightning crackling. Fearing for the mages, she quickly picked up her pace and threw open the large wooden door. It let out a bang as it slammed against the wall, reverberating throughout the chamber.

A bald mage stood in the center of the room, his arms held behind his back passively. Upon hearing the door slam, he turned ever so slowly to face the source of the disruption. He was surrounded by three abominations, whose attention soon fell upon Manon as well.

“Ah…” the mage uttered calmly, staring her party down with a hawk-like gaze. “Look what we have here. An intruder.” His thin lips quickly spread into an unsettling smirk. “I bid you welcome. Would you care to join in our…revels?”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Manon forced herself to keep her voice steady. If she was smart about this, they might be able to save Irving and the others. “I take it you’re Uldred.”

“Oh…very observant!” he exclaimed sarcastically. Bringing a hand to his chin, he narrowed his eyes in contemplation. “I’m quite impressed you’re still alive…Unfortunately, that must mean you killed my servants…” He rolled his eyes slightly and spoke with a noticeable lack of sympathy. “Oh, well…they are probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible responsibility of independence…”

He continued on a rant about how he was doing the mages a service by unlocking their full potential, but he was abruptly cut off by Wynne. “You’re mad!” she snapped with a sharp, even tone. “There’s nothing glorious about what you’ve become, Uldred.”

The mage responded with a fit of insane laughter. “Uldred?” he mocked. “He is gone. I am Uldred, and yet  _not_  Uldred. I am  _more_  than he was.”

So he’d made a deal with a demon, then. Fantastic.

They weren’t going to get anywhere by attempting to talk with the creature…Whatever Uldred was before, he was long gone now, though Manon doubted he would have been worth saving even if his consciousness remained. All that mattered now was saving the captive mages, and in order to do so, they would need to fight him.

Steeling her resolve, she made the slightest indication of her plan to her companions, giving a minimal nod before springing into action. She’d no sooner pulled out her crossbow when Uldred had dropped his mask in favor of an enormous visage. He was now the size of an ogre, with rough spikes protruding from his body and numerous beady black eyes. She had to do a double take, slightly put off by the drastic change, but she soon returned to her attack, swiftly firing bolts one after another. Alistair, Truffles, and Morrigan focused on taking out the enormous beast while Manon and Wynne provided support, attacking the group of abominations and keeping them from interfering.

The moment the demon was slain, Wynne urgently rushed to Irving’s side, untying him and checking for any serious injuries. “Irving, are you alright?!”

“Maker…I’m too old for this…” he groaned wearily. “I’ve…been better…But I am thankful to be alive. I suppose that is your doing, isn’t it, Wynne?”

Taking a deep breath in an effort to regain some of her composure, she replied, “I wasn’t alone…I had help.” She glanced over her shoulder at Manon for emphasis.

“The Circle owes both of you a debt we will never be able to repay…Come, the templars await.” He made to stand, but let out a grunt of pain. “Ah…forgive me…I believe I’ll need some help getting down the stairs…”

Wynne hooked her arm underneath Irving in an attempt to support him as she helped him stand and Manon quickly joined her on his opposite side. Together, they slowly brought the enchanter to his feet and guided him to the staircase.

“Ah…curse whoever insisted the Circle be housed in a tower,” he grumbled in an attempt to lighten the mood.

At the base of the first set of stairs, Manon expected to see the young templar from before, but when they got there, he was nowhere to be found. He must have fled the moment the cage disappeared. Hopefully he wasn’t causing any trouble.

Disregarding that for the moment, she focused instead on helping the senior enchanter through the rest of the tower, taking breaks as necessary. When they finally reached the bottom, the knight-commander was utterly stunned to see them making an entrance.

“Irving? Maker’s breath…I did not expect to see you alive.”

“It is over, Gregoir. Uldred…is dead,” he stated, his voice drained of most of its energy.

The clanking of armor caught Manon’s attention and she noticed the young templar was rapidly approaching their group with purpose. “Uldred tortured these mages, hoping to break their wills and turn them into abominations,” he uttered in a low voice. “We don’t know how many of them have turned.”

Though his words were obviously only meant for the knight-commander, Irving easily caught wind of them. “What? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Of course he’ll say that! He might be a blood mage!” he argued indignantly. “Don’t you know what they did? I won’t let this happen again!”

“ _I_  am the knight-commander here. Not you.”

Irving shook his head in mild frustration. “We will rebuild. The Circle will go on and we will learn from this tragedy and be strengthened by it.”

“We have won back the tower…” Gregoir concluded with an air of finality. “I will accept Irving’s assurance that all is well.”

The paranoid templar was desperately trying to argue his case, insisting that the mages might be possessed and “lying in wait”, but the knight-commander dismissed him before turning his attention to Manon.

“Thank you. You have proven yourself a friend of both the Circle and the Templars.”

She gave a small nod of acknowledgement in response and excused herself before approaching Irving to work out the details of the alliance.

\------

Back at camp, seated on a log, Manon absentmindedly scratched Truffles behind his ears while the embers of the fire crackled beside her. Contemplating the events of the Fade, she let out a long sigh.

She’d told herself that once they were out of danger, she would confess her feelings to Alistair, but now that she’d had some time to think, she was starting to have second thoughts. At the time, she’d been so overwhelmed with everything that her emotions dominated her actions and the excitement of it all had given her a burst of bravery that had long since dwindled out.

Though she wasn’t keen on the idea at the time, it might have been for the best for her to blurt out her feelings while they were still in the Fade…At least then, if he didn’t return her affections, she’d be able to rationalize her actions by saying it was just a dream. If she were to walk up to him in camp and confess, though, there would be no excuses for her to fall back on. And the thought of that terrified her. She had no idea how he felt about her…Sure, they’d flirted on several occasions and he’d made it rather clear that he considered her beautiful, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was attracted to her.

She let out another low sigh. What if he didn’t feel the same? She would no doubt end up making a fool of herself…Or worse, she might ruin their friendship. Even so, it hurt to keep these feelings bottled up. Every moment she wasn’t spending by his side was pure torture. If confessing her love meant that this ache in her heart might be subdued, she wondered if telling him might be the best option after all.

“Hey…”

The voice behind her quickly drew Manon from her thoughts and she let out a small squeak of surprise. He really needed to stop sneaking up on her…

Her face slightly flushed with embarrassment, she ceased petting Truffles and turned to face Alistair. He was standing awkwardly, his hands hanging stiffly at his sides and his gaze was directed at the ground.

Truffles whined softly at the sudden lack of physical affection, but Manon didn’t make an effort to return her attention to him. Realizing that his owner wasn’t going to continue scratching him any time soon, Truffles got to his feet and shook out his fur before padding off to the other side of camp.

When Manon remained silent, Alistair cleared his throat and began to speak. “I, um…I’ve been thinking…about what happened in the tower, and, uh…” He exhaled deeply, as though he’d been holding his breath in that entire time. “I want to apologize for how I acted in the Fade…”

Rising to her feet, Manon looked at him in confusion. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

“No…Actually, I do.” His voice was low and serious. As he slowly lifted his head to meet her gaze, she could see that same sincerity in his eyes. Not wanting to argue, she waited for him to continue. “It wasn’t right…how I treated you. Even if it was just a dream. After everything that happened with Goldanna…I-I thought for sure that I was over that. I thought that I’d put it behind me, but…” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I guess some part of me still wished that we could have been a family. And…I feel so stupid for letting that part control me.” He rubbed his fingers against his temples as though that would alleviate the furrowing of his brows. “The way I acted…it just wasn’t fair to you. You went to so much trouble to help me and you showed me how I don’t need to be such a pushover, but…I completely ignored that advice while I was there. I let that imposter walk all over me and pull me around as though I were her toy!” Meeting her gaze once more, he looked at her so intensely Manon worried she might burst into flames. “She made me try to forget about you…as if I could ever manage that.”

Her voice caught in her throat at his revelation. Was she reading too much into this, or was he saying what she thought he was?

“What do you mean?” she whispered with some hesitation.

His expression seemed to falter momentarily, but after a long pause, he finally spoke. “I…know it might sound strange…considering we haven’t known each other for very long, but…” As he looked at her, his eyes softened considerably and his voice lowered to an intimate volume. “I’ve come to… _care_  for you…A great deal.”

Manon could have sworn her heart stopped. Was this real? It couldn’t be, right? This had to be a dream…

As she stared at him in utter awe, he continued, “I think…maybe it’s because we’ve been through so much together…I-I don’t know…” He let his head hang a bit and his voice trailed off in uncertainty. “Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m fooling myself…” When he looked up at her again, his eyes were full of hope, but the vulnerability in them was clear. “Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever…feel the same way about me?”

Still dazed with shock, Manon found herself speaking unconsciously. “I think I already do,” she breathed.

At her response, Alistair’s expression quickly shifted into a smug, confident smirk and he reached forward to gingerly cup her cheek. “So I fooled you, did I?” he uttered in a low, sultry voice before chuckling slightly. “Good to know…”

He leaned down to meet her height and ever so gently pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was tentative at first; just soft contact as he leaned into her. It quickly grew excited and needy, though. His other hand sought her waist, pulling her closer and his tongue ran smoothly across her bottom lip, seeking entrance. She gladly allowed him access and before she knew it, he was practically devouring her, pouring himself into her and relieving himself of the tension he’d been holding back.

As he did so, a heat stirred in her belly and she realized just how much she’d been hungering for this as well. She returned the kiss with fervor, her own hands crawling up his chest as they made their way to his neck, attempting to close the distance even more.

Just as they were getting into it, Alistair pulled away abruptly to take a breath, and as he did so, a slight look of horror found its way onto his face. His eyes desperately looked her over, trying to read her expression. “That…” he let out a shaky breath. “That wasn’t too soon, was it?”

She tried to suppress the giggle that was building in her chest. After her enthusiastic performance, he still doubted her feelings for him? Then again…that wasn’t so different than the self-doubt she often faced.

Instead, she gazed up at him sheepishly, a blush finding its way across her cheeks, and she smiled. “No…in fact, I’d say you’ve been putting this off for far too long.”

The look of doubt on his face vanished almost instantly and was soon replaced with another coy smile. “Well, then…I guess we have a lot of catching up to do…” He pulled away ever so slightly to look her over, his face plastered with utter awe and adoration. After a long moment of his eyes worshipping her body, his honey gaze returned to her face and he was smiling uncontrollably. “Maker’s breath, but you are beautiful…” he whispered. “I am a lucky man…”

Her face quickly reddened at his words and she looked to the ground nervously, though the smile on her face betrayed her. “Is that so?” she asked, looking up at him beneath lidded eyes. “And here I thought I was the lucky one.”

“On the contrary!” he exclaimed with a grin. “You are, without a doubt, the most magnificent woman in all of Thedas, so it is only natural that I consider myself lucky to have the chance to hold you in my arms…” He pulled her closer for emphasis, his forehead resting against her own.

“But Ser!” she said with a giggle. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short…After all, I have yet to meet a man as strong and handsome as you…”  Though her intent was to be flirtatious, she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed upon saying the words aloud.

A deep chuckle rumbled throughout his chest and he slowly raised a hand to her cheek, his fingers ghosting across the skin. “My dear lady…If that’s true, then you must not have looked very far. I dare say there are vastly superior men who would be more deserving of your affections.”

“I think I’ll be the one to decide who is worthy, if you don’t mind,” she said with such smooth composure that Alistair couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down his spine. Maker, she was torturing him.

“Well…In that case, it appears we are at an impasse.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot on her flesh. “Why don’t we just agree that we’re both incredibly lucky to have found each other in this Blighted world?”

Her stomach did a flip and the grin on her face was quickly growing out of control. “Agreed.”

She’d barely uttered her response before he was claiming her lips once more in earnest. She smiled into the kiss and wrapped her arms around him tighter, her fingers digging into his tunic.

Perhaps this truly was a dream, but if so, she didn’t mind staying like this forever. She often felt guilty about allowing herself happiness, but somehow, she felt she could allow herself this much.

 


	15. Ashes in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In their search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, Manon and her party arrive at the village of Haven, but the quaint little town is not what it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been forever since I last updated this series...but I finally found the inspiration to finish writing this chapter.

Haven was…strange, to say the least. Upon first glance, the town had seemed abandoned and Manon wondered why it was still marked on the map. As they made their way into the square, though, they came across a young boy, whose presence was rather unsettling. He muttered a few incoherent ramblings under his breath, and while Manon tried to dismiss it, she couldn’t suppress the uncomfortable chill that ran down her spine.

They slowly came across more villagers, though their appearances were sparse, and in each instance, they whispered ominously to one another, keeping a watchful eye upon the outsiders.  After wandering around a bit more, they were finally approached by a rather unhappy man.

“What are you lot doing here? Haven is no place for outsiders,” he sneered.

Manon threw him a look of confusion, but responded calmly, “I’m sorry. We’re just here on a bit of business. I’m looking for a Brother Genitivi…”

“Who?” His face scrunched up in distaste, but surprisingly, he gave her a reasonable answer. “Perhaps Revered Father Eirik will know of whom you speak.”

Manon attempted to hide the look of bewilderment that threatened to find its way onto her face. Revered Father? As in a position of the Chantry? That couldn’t be right…

“Very well…Excuse me, then.”

“You may trade for supplies at the shop if you wish. Then I suggest that you and your  _companions_  leave,” he said with a warning tone.

“Did it just get a lot colder, or is it just me?” Alistair whispered with a smirk as he leaned closer to Manon. Attempting to stifle the giggle that was rising in her throat, she gave him a playful swat before pressing forward.

They began a steady climb up the hill, setting course for the Chantry. If this so-called “Revered Father” was what he claimed to be, it was the most likely place he’d be. As they neared the building, they could hear the muffled sound of voices from within. A sermon was likely going on. Looking at one another in uncertainty, Manon took a hesitant step forward before pressing against the door.

“…We are blessed beyond measure; we are chosen by the Holy and Beloved to be Her guardians. This sacred duty is given to us alone; rejoice, my brethren, and prepare your hearts to receive Her.”

This…was not normal. Not only was the presentation of the sermon incredibly unconventional, the words that were being preached were rather unsettling. Taking a deep breath as she gathered her courage, Manon began her path down the aisle.

“Lift up your voices, and despair not, for She will raise Her faithful servants to glory when her-” Taking notice of Manon, he stopped abruptly and narrowed his gaze at her before attempting to plaster a fake smile on his face. “Ah…welcome. I heard we had a visitor wandering about the village. I trust you’ve enjoyed your time in Haven so far?”

Casting a glance behind her warily, Manon tried to choose her words carefully. “I’m not looking for trouble. I’m just looking for Brother Genitivi.”

His mouth pulling back in a grimace, Eirik crossed his arms and dug his fingers into the cloth as though he were restraining himself. “Such a curious one, aren’t you?”

Gulping slightly, she continued, “I know he’s here. If you could direct me to him, we’ll be one step closer to being on our way and out of your hair…”

“Now…that would be all fine and good, if we knew of whom you speak. Sadly, that is not the case. Now…if that is all, I’m afraid I must insist that you leave…” His words came out in a growl, and the townspeople gathered in the room were slowly approaching Manon and her party.

Letting out a huff of frustration, Manon whipped out her crossbow and promptly pointed it at Eirik. “You’re hiding him,” she bit in accusation.

Scowling, he responded harshly, “We don’t owe you any explanation for our actions. We have a sacred duty; failure to protect her would be a greater sin. All will be forgiven…”

Luckily, when the villagers sprung at them to attack, Alistair and Wynne had already pulled out their weapons in defense. They were able to dispense the cultists with relative ease before searching the bodies for anything that might point them in the appropriate direction. All they managed to find was an odd amulet, but it didn’t offer them any clues.

After a bit of searching, though, they came across an odd bookshelf. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be resting on hinges. Manon quickly began pulling at the books until she plucked one that seemed to act as the lever, prompting the hidden door to swing open.

They rushed inside and found a man who they could only assume to be Genitivi lying on the ground, beaten and bruised.

“Who are you?” he asked with uncertainty. “They…they’ve sent you to finish it?”

Manon quickly made her way to his side and began cutting away at the ropes that bound him. “I’m Manon. I’m here to help you.”

He let out a sigh of relief and groaned, “You don’t know how glad I am to see someone who isn’t from this village…”

As soon as she finished cutting the ropes, he made to sit up, but let out a grunt of pain as he did so. “The leg’s not doing so well and…I can’t feel my foot…”

Manon turned her gaze to Wynne, silently asking if there was anything she could do for him.

She pondered for a moment before saying, “I can set the leg and ease some of the pain, but he’ll need a lot of rest in order to heal.”

“I don’t have time to rest now…I’m so close,” he said with a sense of urgency. “The Urn is just up that mountain.”

“Really?” Manon had assumed that once they found Genitivi, they’d have to travel to some other region of Ferelden in order to locate the Urn, but if it was truly here…then perhaps their quest would be coming to an end soon after all.

As Wynne prepared to set his leg, he began his explanation. “My research led me to Haven…and I have heard the villagers talking. I know the Urn is here,” he insisted. “Haven lies in the shadow of the mountain that holds the Urn. There is an old temple there, built to protect it. The door is always locked, but I  _know_  what the key is…” He gave a small grunt as Wynne tightened the splint, but continued, “Eirik wears a medallion that opens the temple door…I’ve seen what he does with it.”

Her eyes lit up at his comment and she promptly pulled out the trinket they’d found earlier. “This medallion?”

A knowing smile spread across his face and he nodded in confirmation. “Yes. That is your key. Take me to the mountainside and I will show you.”

“Are you sure you can make the journey…?” she asked with mild concern.

“It is…not that far,” he said optimistically. “Um…perhaps you could let me lean on you, as well? For the Urn…any pain is worth enduring.”

“Of course…here, let me help you up…”

\------

The doorway that the medallion opened ended up leading them into a rather spacious cavern, illuminated by a soft blue glow. Stalagmites grew up from the ground and the terrain of the space was uneven with water covering some of the deeper areas, but even so, dozens of pillars lined the space, and a dais had been carved out further into the room.

Looking about with a sense of wonder, Genitivi sighed, “Oh, what I would give to have seen this hall in all its splendor, as it was meant to be…” He stepped closer to one of the walls, running his hand along the intricate carvings etched into the surface. “These carvings were created just after Andraste’s death, and they may reveal things about Her life that we do not yet know…I think I may need more time to study these statues and carvings.”

“Are you certain that’s wise?” Manon asked, looking at him with uncertainty.

Giving a smile, he chuckled. “I could not keep up with you with my injuries…I should be safe. I don’t think there are any villagers here.” She still did not seem convinced, so he continued insisting, “Go. I will be all right…Perhaps my destiny was only to lead  _you_  to the Urn.”

Though she still worried for the man’s safety, Manon ultimately gave in and responded with a smile of her own. “All right…Thank you for all your help.”

“Bah! It’s my job…” he said, attempting to dismiss the gratitude. “Just be careful. That’s all I ask. This temple is…perilous. I will be right here if you require assistance.”

Traveling further into the temple, it didn’t take long for Manon and her companions to run across more of the cultists. They were everywhere and they were very much unhappy to find intruders waltzing about their sacred space.

As they continued further into the temple, the hard edges of man-made hallways slowly dissolved back into the natural rock formations of the mountain and they eventually stumbled upon a system of caverns. Almost as soon as they’d entered the tunnels, they ended up coming across a small group of dragonlings.

Manon was initially put off by their appearance; never expecting to see a dragon in the flesh, but the creatures were weak enough that killing them didn’t require much effort on their part. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the drakes they encountered later on. The massive beasts, while not nearly as intimidating as a full-grown dragon, were relentless nonetheless. Manon quickly lost track of how many health potions they’d gone through during their battles with the beasts.

They continued their passage through the tunnels, fighting through what seemed like an endless amount of creatures and cultists until they finally found themselves making progress. Their path led them to a large, open cavern, with several cultists lined up further in.

They weren’t attacking on sight, which was both a welcome change, but also made Manon somewhat wary. She cautiously approached the group, hoping this wouldn’t be a trap.

“Stop! You will go no futher!” one of them barked out.

She did as she was asked, eyeing him carefully. “Who are you?”

“You do not have the right to demand my name,” he snapped. “You have defiled our temple. You have spilled the blood of the faithful, and slaughtered our young.” He began stepping towards her, hostility in his eyes, but she resisted the urge to reach for her weapons. “No more. You will tell me now, intruder, why you have done all this. Why have you come here?”

Steeling herself, she attempted to keep her voice calm. “Tell me your name and I will tell you my purpose.”

His expression was still harsh, but the intensity in his voice drew back slightly. “I am Father Kolgrim, leader and guide to the Disciples of Andraste.” His eyes narrowed and he continued sternly, “Kill us and you will face Andraste. She will smell our blood and the blood of her children on you and Her wrath will be great.”

Suddenly, it occurred to Manon. He’d accused her of slaughtering their young, but there hadn’t been a single child throughout the temple. The only things they’d killed that would be considered children were the numerous dragonlings they’d fought.

“Is Andraste a dragon?” she asked slowly, fearing the answer.

His eyes blazed with fury and he shouted, “She is so much more! She is even more glorious than all the Old Gods combined!” He raised his arms to the heavens and if she hadn’t been convinced of his madness before, Manon was a firm believer now. “The prophet Andraste has overcome death itself and has returned to Her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine! Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay her now. What hope do you have?”

Great. Not only were they facing cultists, but a dragon lay in wait somewhere on this mountain. Attempting to swallow the lump in her throat, she asked, “If Andraste has been born again, what’s become of the Ashes?”

“So…you are after the Ashes. Hmm…Perhaps there is a way for you to make up for your desecration of our home and temple.”

A small twing of relief found its way to Manon’s chest. Maybe they’d be able to reason with these people after all. “What did you have in mind?”

“The Ashes you seek reside atop this mountain, watched by an immortal guardian who refuses to accept the truth of the risen Lady. Now the Ashes prevent holy Andraste from fully realizing Her new form. They are a remnant of Her past incarnation, and She cannot more on as long as they exist.”

She didn’t like where this was going, but remained silent as Kolgrim continued to speak.

“The holy Andraste wishes for us to reclaim Her Ashes for Her, but the Guardian has always stopped us. The task is simple. I give you a vial of the holy Andraste’s blood, and you empty the vial into the Ashes. Whatever magic was held in the Ashes will be undone…and our great Lady will be freed from the shackles of Her past life.”

Yep. She definitely didn’t like this. But as she glanced around out of the corner of her eye, she could sense they were surrounded by a large number of enemies. They might be able to win the fight, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to take those chances. Plus, she couldn’t fight the nagging feeling that the dragon they spoke of was higher up the mountain. If they pretended to ally with these cultists, perhaps they would be granted protection from the creature.

“All right, I will do as you ask.”

Alistair immediately threw her a look of confusion and muttered, “Are you certain you know what you’re doing? You do realize whose ashes we’re talking about here, yes?”

Attempting to fight the irritation in her tone, she whispered back, “Just trust me on this.”

He bit down on his lip in uncertainty, but mumbled back, “If you say so…”

“Take this – the blood of the dragon,” Kolgrim said, handing her the vial. “You know what you must do. Now…I shall beseech the holy Andraste to let you pass safely into the Inner Sanctum.”

Upon exiting the temple and reaching the open air, Manon heard the telltale screech of a dragon and the lump in her throat instantly returned. She only hoped that Kolgrim could keep the beast at bay, as he had promised.

They continued down the path, ultimately coming just beneath the spot the dragon had previously been perched at. Each step was taken with great caution, but apparently they weren’t careful enough. Alistair accidentally kicked a stone, which ended up rolling into the nearby stone wall. It wasn’t much of a noise, but it was enough to alert the dragon.

Leather wings stirring up gusts of wind, she took to the sky before landing menacingly before the group, letting out a ferocious cry. They all instinctively reached for their weapons, and Manon could feel her heart racing with fear.

Kolgrim quickly ran up to the dragon and fell to his knees in desperation, pleading with the creature. “Great Andraste! I pray you; stay your wrath! I bring before You Your champion, who will fall upon your enemies as a cleansing flame, paving the way for your glory!” She roared into the sky as a warning, but he continued. “O, beloved Andraste! O, holy Andraste! We praise Your Name!”

Much to Manon’s surprise, the dragon began retreating to her perch on the cliff, though not without another fearsome cry. She had no idea how Kolgrim had reasoned with the creature, but she wasn’t complaining.

“I have spoken to the beloved Andraste. She will let you pass.”

“Yes…thank you,” she breathed, still keeping an eye on the rocks above her.

“We await your triumphant return,” he declared, and she gave a halfhearted nod before rushing ahead to the temple doors. She was not about to sit around and wait to become dragon food.


	16. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After going through the Gauntlet, Manon finds the courage to open up to Alistair in regards to her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College has been taking up the majority of my life, so it’s been difficult to find the time to sit down and write this chapter...Somehow I managed it, though!

Upon entering the temple, Manon and her party were soon met by a strange, stoic human donned in ancient armor. “I bid you welcome, pilgrim.” His voice carried a sort of echo, resulting in a serene sound that resonated throughout the chamber.

“Who are you?” she asked, looking him over curiously.

“I am the Guardian of the Ashes,” he replied calmly. “I have waited years for this. It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting have I been here, and shall I remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea.”

Manon didn’t spend too much time thinking about the details of his answer. Instead, she proceeded to question him about the whereabouts of the Urn. “I come seeking the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Do you know how I might find it?”

“You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy.”

“I have no interest in using the Ashes for myself…I need them to cure a sick man.”

“Still, you must prove yourself worthy,” the guardian explained. “It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not…”

Though Manon was concerned and confused in regard to what this “Gauntlet” might entail, she sensed there was no way around it. At the very least, she believed that she and her companions might be considered righteous enough for the Gauntlet to deem them worthy.

“Very well…let’s get this over with.”

“Before you go, there is something I must ask. I see that the path that led you here was not easy.” He gazed at her with cold, calculating eyes before continuing. “There is suffering in your past – your suffering, and the suffering of others…By the time you reached Shianni, she was broken, brutalized. You were too late.”

Manon felt her breath hitch in her throat and she froze at his words.

“Tell me, pilgrim, did you fail Shianni?”

She could feel her throat constricting and her chest became tight, restricting her breathing. Letting out a shaky sigh, she answered in a small voice, “Yes…I wasn’t able to protect her…It’s all my fault.”

He gave a small nod of gratitude and said softly, “Thank you. That is all I wished to know.”

Though the guardian seemed content with her answer, Manon could sense the scrutiny of her peers behind her. She could practically feel Alistair’s inquisitive gaze boring into her, though she did her best to ignore it. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce about her tragic past…They needed to focus on the task at hand.

The guardian’s inquisitive gaze soon turned on her companions. “And what of those who follow you?” Slowly, his eyes panned to Alistair before he continued calmly, “Alistair, knight and Warden…you wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don’t you, if you should have died, and not him?”

Manon tried to keep herself from turning in his direction. These were his private thoughts and while she was certainly curious, she had no right to intrude into the thoughts that troubled him. Even so, when she heard his voice waver in response, she couldn’t help looking back at him.

His gaze fell to the floor as he answered in a hushed tone, “I…yes.” He closed his eyes for but a moment before returning his attention to the guardian. “If Duncan had been saved, and not me, everything would be better. If…If I’d just had the chance, maybe I…”

He trailed off, seemingly lost in thought. Wynne seemed to take pity on the young Warden, quickly cutting off his train of thought as she addressed the guardian. “Ask your question, Guardian. I am ready.” She spoke with calm composure, holding her head high as she met his gaze unwavering.

“You are ever the advisor…ready with a word of wisdom. Do you wonder if you spout only platitudes, burned into your mind in the distant past? Perhaps you are only a tool used to spread the word of the Circle and the Chantry…Does doubt ever chip away at your truths?”

“You frame the statement in the form of a question, yet you already know our answers,” Wynne replied with a raised brow and a knowing smile. “There is no sense in hiding, is there? Yes…I do doubt at times. Only the fool is completely certain of himself.”

The guardian proceeded to give a long, slow nod as he contemplated their answers before stepping aside and gesturing towards their path. “The way is open. Good luck, and may you find what you seek.”

As they entered the next chamber, Manon was slightly taken aback upon noticing the various spirits that lined the walls. Cautiously, she continued walking down the center of the corridor, but none of them seemed to notice their presence. When she reached the end of the hall, though, the large wooden door was locked fast. Obviously, they would need to interact with these spirits in order to pass.

Tentatively, she approached one of the figures that stood closest to the door; a man bearing Chantry robes. When she met his gaze, he began to speak. “No man has seen it, but all men know it. Lighter than air, sharper than any sword. Comes from nothing, but will fell the strongest armies. Of what do I speak?”

A riddle, huh? She brought her hand to her chin pensively as she considered his words. Slowly, it dawned on her as to what the answer must be. It was a feeling she was all too familiar with.

“Hunger.”

“Yes, hunger was the weapon used against the wicked men of the Tevinter Imperium. The Maker kindled the sun’s flames, scorching the land. Their crops failed, and their armies could not march. Then He opened the heavens and bade the waters flow, and washed away their filth. I am Cathaire, disciple of Andraste and commander of her armies. I saw these things done and knew the Maker smiled on us.” His voice was filled with glee as a bright light emanated from his body before it disappeared with a flash. The remnants of his specter shot towards the door, sinking below the wooden surface.

Each of the other spirits presented a similar riddle, each related to the role they played in Andraste’s life. After speaking with the final spirit, the door at the end of the hall finally creaked open, inviting the party to advance further.

The group hurried ahead, but as soon as Manon took notice of the figure that stood before her, she stopped dead in her tracks, causing Alistair to nearly tumble into her.

No. It couldn’t be.

Her mouth gaping, Manon could feel herself growing pale as Shianni turned to face her.

“Hey,” she uttered nonchalantly, looking at her cousin with a slightly detached gaze.

“Shianni?” Manon breathed with shock, unable to keep her voice from cracking.

“Who else? It’s good to see you, I suppose…” Her words were impassive, her face holding the barest trace of sadness. “Life out there’s been good to you, hasn’t it? You’re respected, even among humans…Do you remember us? Where you came from, and what some of us still face every day?”

Manon could feel her heart break as she was faced with the melancholy image her cousin had been reduced to. Even if it truly wasn’t Shianni, the sight alone was enough to tear at Manon’s heart strings. “Oh, Shianni…” she whispered, her voice wracked with pain. “Of course I do…”

Her cousin’s eyes soon narrowed with a hint of cynicism. “You don’t even feel much anymore when you remember it, do you? You’ve moved on, past the horror of that night. I envy you…you’ve gone on to other things, things I can only dream of.” She looked Manon over momentarily before her eyes softened somewhat. “You have a great task to complete. I want you to take this.” She stretched out her hand, placing an amulet in Manon’s shaking palm before smiling at her cousin. “Seeing you now gives me hope – for all of us.”

The instant she finished speaking, her image faded away without a trace and Manon remained stock-still, staring ahead blankly as her eyes grew glassy with tears.

Shianni blamed her. Of course she did. She had gone through something so awful while Manon’s experience had paled in comparison. She had gotten to walk free while her cousin remained trapped in the Alienage, the very same Alienage where the elves were being slaughtered for her actions. She didn’t bother to consider that this spirit might have simply been posing as her cousin with the intention of fooling her…Seeing Shianni lose faith in her was far too shocking for her to think rationally.

It was Truffles who finally broke her from her trance, worriedly licking her palm and whining incessantly. She started at the contact, but soon loosened up and began petting the mabari in consolation. She threw him a small smile in an attempt to show him she was all right, while simultaneously attempting to convince herself as well.

They soon pressed on, entering the next chamber, which held a set of translucent copies of the party, eagerly waiting to engage them in battle. The room after that was a puzzle which, after many failed attempts, they managed to solve.

Finally, they came to the last room; a grandiose chamber that was blocked by a wall of fire. Before the fire stood a stone tablet with an engraving that read ‘Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar: be born anew in the Maker’s sight.’

Another riddle. At least this one wasn’t terribly hard to figure out. Unfortunately, as Manon became aware of the answer, her face soon began to heat up from what they would have to do in order to pass. Nervously stepping to the side, she kept her eyes fixed on her feet and pointed to the tablet, allowing Wynne and Alistair to look it over. Maybe there was another solution she wasn’t seeing, in which case she might save them all some embarrassment.

Unfortunately, that was not the case. While Alistair was still scratching his head as he read the inscription, Wynne began nodding slowly, tapping Alistair’s shoulder as she explained that they would need to disrobe in order to walk through the flames. His face instantly flushed a deep scarlet and he began stammering excuses until Manon shyly approached him. She tugged slightly on his shirt sleeve, prompting him to look down at her, and she smiled at him sheepishly.

“It’ll only be for a moment…It shouldn’t be too bad, right?”

He gulped and only managed a stiff nod in response.

The pair faced away from each other as they hurriedly stripped, while Wynne discarded her robes on the opposite side of the pillar. Once they were utterly naked, Manon slowly turned to face the flames, her blush spreading all the way down to her chest. It took every effort imaginable to keep her gaze fixed straight ahead. Knowing that her beloved stood naked a mere foot from her, while a tempting premise, was not at all appropriate in this situation. Alistair also seemed to be having trouble maintaining control, and accidentally peeked at her for a fraction of a second before immediately slapping his palm over his eyes. “SORRY! SORRY!” he spouted frantically, his crimson complexion spreading ever lower.

Truffles stood next to Wynne, attempting to provide at least some semblance of modesty for the woman. She shot a quick look at the two, seemingly urging them to follow, before she stepped through the flames.

Staring at the ground, Manon bit down on her lip apprehensively. Well, here goes nothing…

“Come on, you won’t be able to see where you’re going like that…” she uttered softly, cautiously taking hold of his hand as she walked forward. He stiffened at the contact, but obliged and followed her until they’d passed the fiery barrier.

Once they’d all made it through, the guardian from before made his appearance, entering from the path they’d taken to get here. “You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet. You have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrim. Approach the Sacred Ashes.”

Upon his final words, he disappeared with a flash of blinding light. Manon lifted her arm to shield her eyes, and once the light had dissipated, she looked down to find that she was fully clothed once more. She turned to Alistair in surprised excitement, who wore a similar look of relief.

With the embarrassment of the final trial behind them, Manon’s attention turned to the Urn that stood at the top of the grand staircase. Light filtered through the windows, bathing the statue of Andraste in a divine aura. Overcome with reverence, Manon slowly ascended the stairs, her eyes fixed on the image of the Maker’s bride. At the base of the statue sat the Urn. Finally…After all this time, they’d found it. She could hardly believe it.

Alistair seemed to share her sentiment, looking on in astonishment. “I didn’t think anyone could succeed in finding Andraste’s final resting place…but here…here she is…”

Wynne, too, gazed at the Urn with a sense of utter serenity. “I could not have asked for a greater honor than to be here. I will never forget this feeling.”

Manon let out a deep sigh as a smile spread across her face. So many had failed in their quests to find Andraste’s remains…and yet they had accomplished the impossible. She couldn’t help but feel a little proud at getting to witness this site of worship. Shaking herself from her awe, she quickly began digging through her pack until she pulled out a leather pouch. Carefully removing the lid of the urn, she set it aside before grabbing a pinch of the Ashes and putting them inside the pouch. Once she was sure they were secure, she placed the lid back on its rightful place before directing her companions back the way they came.

When they exited the temple, they were immediately met by a furious Kolgrim. “You have been to the Urn, but Andraste has not been freed. What manner of treachery is this?!”

Manon cocked her head to the side in faux-innocence. “But I did free Andraste. Can’t you tell?”

“Lies!” he immediately hollered, raising his fist in anger. “You have betrayed us, betrayed our Lady! And now you will die. Behold the fiery vengeance of Andraste Herself!”

The cultists promptly attacked them, but there were few of them in comparison to the ambush in the cavern before, which meant defeating them proved to be no difficult feat. And it seemed luck was on their side, for the dragon didn’t appear to be nearby for the moment, allowing them to make a swift escape.

They briefly stopped to inform Genitivi of their findings and helped guide him back to the village of Haven, where Wynne got to work helping him heal properly.        

\------

Manon had just finished setting up her tent, her hand resting on the entry flap when she heard a cough behind her. She wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Alistair standing there, awkwardly rubbing his neck as he looked at the ground. After everything that happened at the temple, she’d be more surprised if he didn’t seek her out to talk.

“I, uh…suppose you can already guess why I’m here…” he mumbled with a nervous chuckle.

Giving a half-hearted smile of her own, she simply nodded before stepping inside her tent, holding the flap open for Alistair.

He stooped down as he entered, letting the flap fall behind him before settling down criss-cross next to Manon’s bed mat. Tentatively, she sat down next to him, fiddling with the buttons on her backpack as she waited for him to speak.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a while; Alistair seemed to have trouble figuring out how to word his concerns, but ultimately, he decided to break the silence. “Listen, I…I know when I asked about your past before, you didn’t want to tell me – And I respect that! I really do! But…” His gaze dropped to the ground and he paused for a moment. “I’m not trying to pry into what went on at the temple, but…I’m worried for you. Whatever happened…you seem to be blaming yourself, and…I just want to help. If I can…”  

He began absentmindedly twiddling his thumbs as he stared downward, a slight flush rising up his neck. Manon chewed on her lip in deliberation, sitting in uncertainty for several long moments before she uttered softly, “I suppose it’s about time I told you…”

She let out a low sigh before leaning back on her hands, directing her gaze at the tent’s roof. The space was overcome with silence once more before she eventually spoke. “In the Alienage…we have a tendency to cling to tradition…I suppose it’s our way of keeping ourselves separate from the humans…An attempt to hold onto some semblance of our long-forgotten heritage. One of our traditions is arranged marriage. I’ve asked before why we do it, but the only answer I’ve ever received is ‘tradition.’” She took a brief pause before continuing. “The day that Duncan recruited me, two such marriages were taking place…one of which was my own.”

Alistair’s brows rose in surprise, but he remained quiet. “I wasn’t exactly excited to be marrying someone I didn’t know, but it wasn’t like I was opposed to the idea, either…It just felt a little sudden, is all…Heck, after I met the guy, I started to come around to the idea, but…” She let out a solemn chuckle, shaking her head slightly. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be…”

He gazed at her expectantly, urging her to continue. After a long while of contemplation, she seemed to find the appropriate words. “We had an…unwanted party guest waltz in in the middle of the ceremony. Vaughan…the Arl’s son. He’d brought a big group of his friends and…several guards…He…” She let out a shaky breath. “He was there in search of female entertainment for a party of his…”

Slowly, Alistair’s eyes widened with realization and he set his jaw. Scooting closer to her, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him. She settled against him, breathing another nervous sigh before finding the strength to continue. “They took five of us in total. Me, the other bride, Shianni, and two of the bridesmaids…” The lump in her throat grew and she attempted to swallow it. “Nelaros – my betrothed, he…he tried to protect me, but they restrained him…And…Vaughan came over to me…sizing me up with those  _Maker-forsaken_  eyes of his…” She bit out the last words, feeling the bile rising in her throat. “I feel sick just thinking about it.”

Alistair’s grip tightened and he stared straight ahead, his gaze hardening ever so slightly. “I was knocked out then…The next thing I remember, we were all locked in a storage closet. We tried to think of a way to escape, but before we had the chance, they’d come for us.” She released another deep sigh. “One of the girls tried to protest, and they killed her without a second thought. I was so stunned that I didn’t even notice them leading the others out of the room…And then they had me cornered.”

He turned to her then, his expression full of worry, but she slowly shook her head in response. “They didn’t get to do anything. Soris came to my rescue in time…Duncan had given him and Nelaros a sword and crossbow, and they’d come to save us. I-I knew Soris would come for me…He was always like a big brother to me, but…It was a huge shock to know that Nelaros was risking his life for my sake.” She could feel her throat begin to tighten, and failed in her attempt to control her breathing. “I didn’t have the chance to thank him…he was cut down right in front of me not a few minutes later…”

A small sniffle escaped Manon and tears began to prick her eyes, but she furiously wiped them away. “I…I spared as much time as I could to mourn him, but we didn’t have time to waste…We hurried to Vaughan’s room, but…by the time we got there, Shianni had…had…” She let out a strangled choking sound as she stifled the inevitable sobs. “I wasn’t able to save her…I couldn’t protect her…The only thing I could do was make the man responsible for it pay.”

She pressed her lips together firmly, pushing aside her tears. Steeling her gaze, she stared ahead vacantly before speaking in a detached voice. “I killed them all. They made her suffer, so I returned the favor in full. And I enjoyed it. I feel no remorse whatsoever for slaughtering them like animals.” A low, cynical chuckle fell from her lips. “And people call me a hero…What makes me worthy of such praise? I failed to protect my cousin, and even though she underwent torment so much worse than what I experienced, I have the gall to play the victim…”

“Now you stop right there.” Surprised at his sudden intervention, Manon looked up at Alistair in shock. His intense gaze bore into her and he was gripping her arm firmly. “You need to stop blaming yourself for things that are clearly out of your control.”

“But, I…” she tried to counter, but he shushed her by placing his hand upon her cheek.

“There was nothing you could have done. You did the best you could in a situation you were thrust into and you tried to help as many people as you could. Even if you couldn’t reach your cousin in time, you defended her honor and you got her home safely…Those men deserved their fate. If you hadn’t killed them, I can guarantee that I would take up the mission of making them pay,” he uttered seriously, his eyes wielding restrained anger.

She let out a breathless laugh, pain tearing at her features. “If only it were that simple…” Turning her gaze to the ground, she continued, “’By dawn, the city will run red with elven blood.’ Those were Vaughan’s words. At the time, I hadn’t thought anything of it…And after I turned myself in, I thought for sure everyone in the Alienage would be safe…” The next sound that escaped her throat resembled more of a sob than her previous attempts at laughter. “I was so stupid. The new Arl…this  _Rendon Howe_  took over where Vaughan left off…My people are being slaughtered as we speak.”

Her fingers took hold of Alistair’s tunic and she looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes. “What if that spirit at the temple really was Shianni? What if she was killed after all? What if…” Unable to finish her thought, she submitted to the tears that had been previously clouding her vision and ducked her head against his chest.

He pulled her flush against him, his grip strong and supportive, and closed his eyes in sympathetic grief. Tucking his head down, he pressed a firm kiss to her forehead before running his fingers through her hair in consolation.

Rather than try to appease her with empty promises of her family’s safety, Alistair simply held her in silence, attempting to offer whatever comfort he could in this moment of sorrow.

 


	17. From the Bottom of my Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While attempting to ignore Wynne’s advice, Manon stumbles across something that belonged to Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really bland...But! The next chapter will be NSFW! Are you excited?

When Manon arrived at Redcliffe Castle and announced that they’d recovered the Ashes, Teagan welcomed them in with open arms, eagerly rushing to retrieve the healers. She handed over the small bag of ashes to one of the mages, while another brought forth an armful of various herbs. Together, they worked tirelessly mixing the ingredients and incorporating their magic as necessary. Eventually, when the concoction was complete, they began administering it to the Arl before beginning an incantation of healing.

The recitation of the spell lasted for an endless stretch of time, and for a while, it didn’t seem like the Arl was ever going to wake. Finally, his fingers began to twitch and he let out a low groan before his labored breathing began to even out. Ever so slowly, his eyes opened and as his consciousness returned to him, he looked about with a hazy awareness. “Wh-where am I?”

“Be calm, brother,” spoke Teagan. “You have been deathly ill for a very long time. Do you remember nothing?”

“Teagan? What are you doing here?” he asked with confusion. “Where is Isolde?”

“I am here, my husband,” she said softly, kneeling at his side. Still lying down, Eamon turned his neck so that he could face his wife.

His gaze searching hers, he continued, “And Connor? Where is my boy? Where is our son?”

“He…” Isolde directed her gaze to the ground as she let out a heavy sigh. “He is dead. Connor is dead,” she finished solemnly.

“Dead?” he gasped with horror. “Then…it was not a dream…”

“Much has happened since you fell ill, brother. Some of it will not be…easy for you to hear,” Teagan began with hesitation.

“Then tell me,” Eamon urged. “I wish to hear all of it.

A few servants gradually helped Eamon up so that he could recline against the bed frame. They allowed him some time to regain his strength, giving him some food and water before Manon and Teagan offered their insight into the matter. They went on to detail the events of the past few months, including Loghain’s betrayal at Ostagar, his plot to poison the Arl, as well as the possession of Connor and the acts that were taken to save the town.

By the time their explanation had concluded, the Arl had regained more of his strength, enough that he could sit on the edge of the bed without assistance, and he hung his head in worry. “This is most troubling…” he stated regretfully. “There is much to be done, that is true, but I should first be thankful to those who have done so much.” He directed his gaze to Manon, his eyes saddening visibly. “Grey Warden. I…know you did what you had to do…I grieve for my son, but I believe that had you not acted as you did, it might have been far worse.”

Manon swallowed as she pressed her lips together firmly. She’d been regretting this day ever since she’d made her choice to kill Connor, but the Arl wasn’t acting nearly as rashly as she had feared.

“I am in your debt. Will you permit me to offer you a reward for your service?”

Manon practically blanched at his words. She had murdered his son, and he was  _thanking_  her? Granted, she understood that he was grateful for her stopping the disaster that had been plaguing the town, but she did not consider her actions to be the least bit honorable.

“I do not consider myself worthy of a reward,” she said with uncertainty. “However, if I might petition you for aid in defeating the Blight, I would be most thankful.”

“You need not be so modest. Your actions are commendable and I wish to honor you and your companions, if you wish.”

“No, thank you,” she reaffirmed, her gaze shifting downward.

“As you wish…”

“We should speak of Loghain, brother,” Teagan mentioned with a sense of urgency. “There is no telling what he will do once he learns of your recovery.”

“Loghain instigates a civil war even though the darkspawn are on our very doorstep. Long I have known him…He is a sensible man, one who never desired power.”

“I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon,” Teagan insisted. “He is mad with ambition, I tell you.”

“Mad, indeed…” Eamon acknowledged, lowering his brows in concern. “Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself and destroy my lands.” His eyes closed for a moment in consideration. “Whatever happened to him…Loghain must be stopped. What’s more, we can scarce afford to fight this war to its bitter end.”

“What do you propose, then?” Manon asked.

“We have no time to wage a campaign against him. Someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance at fighting the darkspawn.” He paused briefly before continuing, “I will spread word of Loghain’s treachery, both here and against the king, but it will be but a claim made without proof. Those claims will give Loghain’s allies pause, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore…We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain’s daughter, the queen.”

“Are you referring to Alistair, brother?” Teagan asked incredulously. “Are you certain?”

“I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative, but the unthinkable has occurred…”

“What about  _me_? Does anyone care what  _I_  want?” Alistair demanded, his eyes narrowing in irritation.

“You have a responsibility, Alistair. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?”

“I- b-but, I…” he stammered defensively before letting out a long, defeated sigh. “No, my lord.”

“I see only one way to proceed. I will call for a landsmeet. A gathering for all of Ferelden’s nobility in the city of Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another. Then the business of fighting our true foe can begin.” A deep sigh escaped his lips and he shook his head slightly. “Forgive me…I am feeling a bit weary. Perhaps we can continue this discussion later…”

One of the servants helped the Arl back into bed while another began gently ushering everyone out of the room. Once they were in the hallway, Manon and Alistair stood at one other’s sides, though neither one spoke up. Alistair stared ahead with a hard gaze, clearly deep in thought.

Slowly, Manon turned to look at him, concern etched on her face. Eventually, he took notice of her attention on him, and looked back at her with a sheepish smile. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to make you worry,” he said with an anxious laugh. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind…”

Manon opened her mouth to speak, but promptly shut it, offering a reassuring hand on his shoulder instead.

“I’m going to…do some thinking,” he ultimately said, before masking his uncertainty with a forced smile. “You should take the chance to explore the castle. It’s really quite something!”

He quickly departed with what could have been taken as optimism, but Manon knew better. As she watched his back leave, her shoulders drooped slightly and she exhaled with resignation. “I think you would be a great king…” she murmured softly, her words barely audible.

“You’re quite taken with each other, aren’t you?”

Manon started slightly upon hearing Wynne appear at her side. She attempted to compose herself, giving a nervous chuckle in response. “Is it that obvious?”

“It’s hard not to notice the doe-eyed looks he gives you, especially when he thinks no one’s watching. It’s almost too sweet for my tastes, and I’m an old lady who should be making lace hearts and fuzzy blankets with animal motifs.”

Manon couldn’t help but smile at the premise, but Wynne’s expression remained largely unreadable. She paused for a moment before continuing. “I’ve noticed your blossoming relationship and I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going. Alistair is a fine lad, skilled in battle, but quite inexperienced when it comes to affairs of the heart. I would hate to see him get hurt.”

Though her tone was gentile, Manon felt a sharp sting from the mage’s words. Alistair may be somewhat naïve; that much was plain to see, but did Wynne truly see him as more vulnerable than her? To think that she didn’t offer the same sympathies to Manon…it hurt.

“What about me?” she asked with a frown. “Not worried about me getting hurt?”

“I am worried about the both of you,” Wynne answered gently. “There is great potential for tragedy here, for one or both of you. You are both Grey Wardens, and he is the son of a king. You have responsibilities which supersede your personal desires.”

“I never asked to be a Grey Warden,” she said in a small, fragile voice, her face scrunching up with emotion. “Am I not allowed this one small piece of happiness?”

“Love is…ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one’s mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else,” Wynne explained, her voice level and calm. “A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else, and then what would you do?” There was the barest trace of an accusatory tone accompanying the end of her question.

“I…” Manon released a shaky breath, feeling her throat going dry. “I don’t want to have to make that choice…”

Why was this happening? Why was it when she’d finally found someone she was prepared to devote her life to, it seemed like he was going to be ripped away?

“Nothing is certain, not in these times. You cannot take anything for granted. I want you to be aware of this.”

Furrowing her brows, Manon retorted, “Alistair and I can handle anything that comes our way.” She’d meant for it to sound confident and determined, but she was fairly certain she came across as more of a petulant child.

“If you insist.” Wynne’s eyebrows rose slightly; just enough to show her skepticism. “I have given my advice. Do with it what you will.”

Wynne left calmly, but Manon’s departure was much less composed. She hurried off to another part of the castle, determined to keep her emotions in check, though she couldn’t help sniffling a little. When she found a room that was empty, she quickly shut the door behind her and slid down against its surface, bringing her knees to her chest and burying her head in them.

She’d considered Wynne as somewhat of a grandmotherly figure to her…She was always kind and offered helpful advice, assisting in matters that the young Wardens lacked the skills for. Manon would have expected her to be happy for her and Alistair…Why was she being so critical of them?

She sat there for a while, attempting to calm herself, but eventually, she rose to her feet and released a deep sigh. No longer distracted by Wynne’s accusations, she took a moment to survey her surroundings. In her haste, she’d gone to the first empty room she could find, but she hadn’t bothered to check if she should even be in there.

From what she could tell, it was a study of some sort…Most likely the Arl’s. There was a nagging feeling that she ought to leave and return to the others, but she was a bit reluctant to do so. Tentatively, she glanced back at the door and chewed on her lip. It couldn’t hurt to look around a bit, could it?

Cautiously, she approached one of the bookshelves that lined the walls. Most of the titles she didn’t recognize, but from what she could tell, they were mostly generic tales of fiction. As she continued to peruse the books, something shimmering caught her attention from the corner of her eye. Her curiosity piqued, she made her way over to the Arl’s desk to inspect the source. Upon approaching the desk, she quickly recognized the object as an amulet.

It was made of a beautiful silver metal with an intricate engraving of Andraste’s emblem. Upon further inspection, Manon noticed the various cracks that ran through the trinket. She could only imagine how long it must have taken to reattach all the shattered fragments.

As she gently ran her hand along the surface of the pendant, she recalled one of the first conversations she’d had with Alistair, back when they’d first entered Redcliffe. This had to be the amulet he’d spoken of; she was sure of it. If she was mistaken, she could always bring it back later.

She made her way out into the hallway, searching around for the Warden in question. After roaming the hallways for a bit, she ended up locating him in his assigned suite. His door was wide open, with him leaning over his bed as he shuffled through his belongings. Manon leaned casually against the door frame and knocked softly on the door to signal her presence.

He jumped slightly at the sound, spinning around to face her, but the moment he recognized her, he visibly relaxed and his expression lit up. “Well, hey there. What can I do for you?” he asked with a grin.

Returning the smile, Manon crossed the room to reach him, her arms held behind her back. She looked up at him mischievously, her eyes dancing with a playful light as she said, “I’ve got a surprise for you…”

“Oh, really?” He cocked his head to the side as his grin stretched wider. “What is it?”

“Hold out your hands,” she instructed, as he had done when he gave her the rose.

He did as he was told, eagerly awaiting whatever she had in store for him.

She proceeded to bring her hands to her front, revealing the amulet for a moment before she gently placed it in his waiting palm. Slowly, he looked down at it and his smile faded away, being replaced by a look of utter shock.

“This…this is my mother’s amulet…It has to be,” he murmured with confusion. “But why isn’t it broken? Where did you find it?”

“It was in a study here in the castle.”

“Oh, the Arl’s study?” he asked with mild surprise as he turned the necklace over in his hands. He pondered it for a moment before a look of understanding found its way onto his face. “Then he must have…found the amulet after I threw it at the wall. And he repaired and kept it?” He continued to stare at the amulet, his brows furrowing in disbelief. “I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”

“Perhaps you mean more to him than you think,” Manon offered.

“I…guess you could be right…” he muttered quietly, apparently deep in thought. “We never really talked much, and then the way I left…” He shook his head, letting out a soft sigh as he recalled the memory. Slowly, he turned his gaze to Manon, his eyes warm and gentile as he addressed her. “Thank you. I mean it, I…thought I’d lost this to my own stupidity.”

“It was no trouble,” she said with a small smile.

“Did you remember me mentioning it?” His eyes lit up and he looked at her with a sense of awe. “Wow…I’m more used to people not really listening when I go on about things.”

“Of course I remembered,” she uttered softly. “I care about you.”

A tender smile stretched across his face and he reached forward to cup her cheek as he stared at her in adoration. “And I, you. This…This means the world to me, truly. Thank you,” he said at a whisper. He carefully pocketed the amulet before he wrapped his arm around her waist. Slowly, he bent down and brought his lips to hers; pulling them together for a long, deep kiss.


	18. No Matter What [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manon and Alistair finally come together and make love in their tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve finally reached the first (and probably only) NSFW chapter in the story! (Though it barely qualifies as smut since Manon and Alistair’s relationship is so vanilla lmao.)
> 
> (Also, the fic's rating has now been bumped up to mature!)

The sun had just fallen behind the horizon and everyone was settled in at camp. Morrigan had found herself a spot on the opposite end of the clearing and Wynne sat on a log by the fire, engrossed in a book. Manon had taken to sitting on the outskirts of the campsite, staring thoughtfully at the twilight sky.

It was easy to get caught up in the fact that they were in the middle of a war, with death and darkspawn at every turn. To be able to sit and relax for a few moments and simply take in the beauty of the world around her…It was nice.

As usual, her solitude didn’t last long. The familiar tread of feet on dirt slowly signaled Alistair’s approach, but Manon didn’t mind his interruption. She considered asking him to join her, to sit under the stars enjoying one another’s company, but she waited for him to speak.

He was silent for several moments; long enough that Manon turned around to face him in curiosity. His gaze was directed at the ground and his face was incredibly flushed. His hands were absently clenching and unclenching into fists at his side and his breathing appeared strained.

“Alistair?” Manon asked softly, her gaze turning concerned. Was he ill?

“I…” His gaze flicked up to meet her face, and he let out a nervous laugh. “I guess I really…don’t know how to ask you this…”

Getting to her feet, Manon made her way over to him, looking at him with mild worry. “Is everything all right?”

“What?” he blurted out in confusion. “No, of course it is! No, right…this isn’t anything bad or frightening, or…well…” He let out a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping as he berated himself silently.

Manon remained silent, simply staring at him in concern as she waited for him to continue.

“Oh, how do I say this?” he muttered with exasperation. “You’d think it would be easier, but every time I’m around you, I feel as if my  _head_ ’s about to explode, I-I can’t think straight…” His hands lifted in an exaggerated gesture to signify his frustration.

“Oh…” Manon said with a gasp, her voice barely a whisper.

“Here’s the thing…” Alistair began, angling his body toward her and fixing his serious gaze on her. “Being near you…makes me _crazy_ ,” he explained breathlessly, taking a momentary pause as his brows furrowed. “But I can’t imagine being without you…Not…ever…”

Manon held her breath as she stared at him, wide-eyed. She didn’t dare speak; for fear that he might stop talking.

“I don’t know how to say this another way…I want to spend the night with you. Here. In the camp.” His deep brown eyes looked into hers, and Manon felt as though she was seeing  _him_  for the first time. He was baring everything to her in this moment. No jokes, no charismatic diversions, just pure, unadulterated confession. “Maybe this is too fast, I…don’t know, but…I know what I  _feel._ ”

“You want to spend the night?” she breathed, her face frozen in awe. “Are you sure?”

“I wanted to wait for the perfect time, the perfect place, but when will it ever  _be_  perfect? If things were, we wouldn’t even have  _met_.” His eyes softened somewhat, as he recalled their first meeting. “We sort of…stumbled into each other…And despite this being the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you in between all the fighting and everything else…” A warm smile had graced his face, most of his nervousness having vanished simply from his utter  _love_  for her. “I really don’t want to wait any more…I’ve…I’ve never done this before…you know that.” He took a small step forward and gently grasped her hand in his as he met her gaze. “I want it to be with you. While we have the chance…In case…”

Tears began to prick Manon’s eyes as her breath hitched in her throat. “I…” Her gaze flicked to the space between them where he clutched her hand in his. “Is this real? Are you…Are you certain you want to…with  _me_?” Her voice cracked at the end, her throat welling up with emotion.

Slowly, and with great tenderness, Alistair pulled her closer to him and tipped her chin upwards so that she would look at him. “Manon, listen to me…There is no one in this world I would rather do this with than you. If you would have me, that is…I don’t want to force you if you don’t want to…”

“No!” she blurted out, her eyes wide. “That’s not it…I want to…more than anything, but…” She bit down on her lip, her eyes full of uncertainty. “I just find it so hard to believe that you want  _me_  of all people…”

He stared down at her gingerly before slowly raising a hand to delicately cup her cheek. “Then allow me to show you just how much I care about you.”

A small gasp escaped her throat and she gawked at him in shock, but after a moment, her mouth shut and she gave a small nod of permission.

With great care, Alistair stooped to meet her height, softly bringing his lips to hers. Their mouths melded together, as they had time and time again, lips pursing and tongues meeting in earnest. They kissed long and deep, lost to time and space as they reveled in one another’s embrace, until they finally broke apart.

With an affectionate smirk, Alistair gazed at her lovingly before resting his forehead against hers. “Shall we move somewhere more private?” he murmured against her flesh, his breath tickling her.

Smiling softly, she answered with a wordless nod and pulled back to look at him in adoration. A mischievous grin stretching across his face, he wasted no time scooping her into his arms, which prompted an excited squeal from her. “Come, milady! An exciting night of passion awaits!” he exclaimed enthusiastically as he began trekking across the campsite.

She began giggling uncontrollably, and tucked her blushing face into his shoulder to muffle her laughter. As they approached their destination, Alistair was fully aware that everyone’s attention was on them. Wynne shot them a look of disapproval, and he was certain Morrigan was gagging on the opposite end of camp, but he wasn’t inclined to care about either of them. All that mattered to him was the giggling elf he held in his arms.

He ducked beneath the tent’s flap, careful not to trip as he entered, and gently bent down as he neared his bed roll. He set her down delicately, with the utmost reverence, before crawling over her and meeting her affectionate gaze. “Hi,” he said with a chuckle.

“Hi,” she giggled in turn.

His fingers came up to brush along her neck, enjoying the softness of her skin before he pressed a gentile kiss to her lips. He leaned back on his haunches, his hands tentatively reaching for the sash acting as her belt. He turned his gaze to her, asking if this was alright, and though she was chewing on her lip nervously, she gave another nod of approval.

He moved slowly, lovingly, as he removed each article of clothing. Her belt came first, followed by the cuirass fastened around her torso. He then got to work unlacing the ties that held her tunic together, and as he moved to push it over her shoulders, she assisted in removing her pauldrons.

With the top half of her clothing removed, she lay before him in her breast band, and he made to continue undressing her, but froze as his eyes landed on her shoulder. She was confused for a moment, her brows furrowing slightly, until she saw where he was staring. His eyes were glued to her scar; the horrible burnt flesh that was a constant reminder of her failure at Ostagar.

In an instant, she felt her blood run cold and she instinctively curled up on herself, her arms splaying across her chest in an attempt to cover herself. “I-I’m sorry…I should have told you…This…” She pressed her cheek to the bed mat, her eyes scrunching up tight. He was disgusted. He had to be. Any hope she’d had that he could truly want her fled and she could feel the tears welling in her eyes. Even if he had wanted this before, there was no doubt he’d been deterred once he’d seen her tarnished flesh. He was just too polite to say anything…that’s why he was staring at her in wordless concentration.

Remaining silent, he slowly worked her arms from her chest, pulling them down to her side. She tried to protest, but shut her mouth, her words dying in her throat. He looked at her with a pained expression, his eyes searching her face before he leaned forward and placed  _the_  gentlest kiss upon her scar. She let out a shocked gasp, her mouth hanging open in surprise. He continued to place tender kisses along the rest of the scar, ensuring that the entire surface area had received the appropriate affection before he placed one final kiss upon her lips.

With careful movements, Alistair ran his hand along her cheek gingerly, his eyes liquid chocolate as he gazed at her fondly. “I seem to recall saying you were the most beautiful woman in all of Thedas. I have yet to see any evidence that would prove me otherwise.”

Manon’s breath hitched in her throat and she let out a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He was too good to her. There was no way the Maker would have blessed her with a man so kind and perfect. But here he was, telling her that she was beautiful and desirable and so very  _loved_.

She broke into hysterical laugher then, tears falling from her eyes as she smiled uncontrollably. His own smile stretched wider as he gently wiped her tears away with the pad of his thumb. He gave her one last lingering look of affection before he returned to his previous mission of disrobing her.

Scooting down to the foot of the bed mat, he hooked his fingers beneath the edge of one of her stockings before slowly stripping it off, caressing her leg as he moved. After pulling off her sock and shoe and tossing them aside, he tickled the bottom of her foot, prompting a giggle from her. With a grin, he repeated the process with her other stocking, stroking the ball of her foot lovingly before gently setting it down.

He slowly crawled back up, meeting her gaze with a smile before he began a trail of kisses down her neck. He continued his ministrations as he descended, peppering her chest and stomach with affection until his fingers found their way to her waistband. Placing one more kiss on her belly button, he quickly pulled the shorts off of her before tossing the garment to the side.

She fidgeted somewhat beneath him, but he immediately shushed her with another deep kiss. Pulling away slowly, he stared into her with gentile brown eyes, and she could feel her nervousness begin to melt away. Certain that she was comfortable again, Alistair returned to his work, reaching behind for the clasp that held her breast band in place. He fumbled for a bit, grumbling under his breath as he struggled with the garb. Manon chuckled with amusement before reaching behind herself to undo the pesky clasp and allowing him to pull the article from her body.

As she lay bare before him, Alistair took a sharp intake of breath. Her porcelain skin, dusted with freckles, practically glowed in contrast to the dark confines of the tent. Her soft, rosy nipples stood erect as evidence of her arousal and he found himself unsure where to start, too captivated by her beauty. “Maker, Manon…” he gasped. “You’re stunning…”

The soft pink blush that had already spread across her cheeks quickly darkened then, transitioning to a lovely shade of scarlet as she smiled sheepishly. Alistair descended then, pressing a soft kiss along the underside of her jaw before taking hold of one of her breasts. A small gasp escaped her throat at the contact and she rolled her eyes back in bliss. Her small mound was barely the size of his palm, but he didn’t seem to mind. To Alistair, they were perfect simply because they were  _hers_.

He took hold of her other breast then, squeezing and kneading the flesh affectionately before rolling her nipples beneath his thumbs. She let out the most delightful moan in response, which only contributed to his ever growing desire. After a while, he changed tactics, pressing soft kisses to the peaks of her bosom before wrapping his mouth around a pert nipple and gently sucking.

“Alistair!” she breathed helplessly, her body twitching involuntarily. He released a satisfied groan at the sound. His name sounded positively delectable on her lips.

Eventually, he pulled away from her with the intent of heading southward, but before he could, her arms encircled his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss. Her tongue impatiently probed his mouth, prompting a deep moan of pleasure from him. When they broke apart, she held fast, looking him dead in the eyes with her wanton gaze. “You’re wearing entirely too much clothing,” she said matter-of-factly, which left him chuckling.

“As the lady wishes…” he uttered with amusement, pulling back so as to pull his tunic over his head. Once he was shirtless, it was her turn to stare in awe, her eyes raking over his body. It was almost too much to take in; his broad shoulders, the well-defined muscles that spanned his chest, and the all-too adorable pudge that made up his belly.

With a semi-frustrated pout, she looked up at him and muttered, “No fair…you’re so perfect.”

He let out a loud laugh at that, throwing his head back in delight at her words. After wiping a joyful tear from his eye, he leaned down once more, gingerly gripping her cheek in his palm. “I would argue the same of you…but it seems we’ve had this argument before,” he said with a grin.

She couldn’t help but chuckle at that and beamed at him in agreement. He met her gaze with a warm smile before leaning down to nuzzle her neck, which had her humming in approval. His hands soon found their way to her sides, slowly drifting down her body in admiration as he traced her gentile curves. When his hands reached her waist, he took hold of her smalls and quickly worked them off of her body.

His hands lingered a moment, gripping her thighs appreciatively before he moved to cup her sex. His thumb immediately found her clit, rubbing softly against the sensitive nub, and she released a breathless moan. One of his fingers remained on the outskirts of her entrance, teasing her folds before finally entering her. A sharp gasp left her throat and her eyes rolled back into her head in ecstasy. He continued his work, delicately massaging her walls while simultaneously applying pressure to the bundle of nerves at the top.

She was overcome with pleasure; warmth filling her core and spreading until she was writhing beneath him. “Alistair…” she crooned, her hands shakily reaching up to entangle in his short hair. “Please…”

He could practically feel his eyes darken at her words, and exhaled slowly in an attempt to retain some semblance of control. His member was painfully hard now, eagerly pressing against his breeches, and he was silently grateful that she was asking for this. Carefully, he removed his hand and gently pried away her grip on his hair. He stood up and in one swift motion, pulled down his breeches and smalls before shrugging them off to the side. A small, inaudible sigh left him as his erection was finally freed from the confines of his trousers and he crouched down once more to rejoin her on the mat.

Manon glanced downward as Alistair repositioned himself, and her eyes instantly widened the moment they landed on his manhood. He was just so _big_. She could feel herself gaping as her eyes took in its girth. Was he really supposed to fit inside her? Looking up at him meekly, she managed to squeak out, “Be gentile…”

He froze for a moment, initially confused by her request, before a tender smile stretched across his face. A deep rumble echoed throughout his chest and he leaned down to plant a reassuring kiss on her lips. “I wouldn’t dream of hurting you,” he whispered reverently, his gaze enamored.

His eyes remained locked on her face for a few moments more before he directed his concentration downward. With great care, he guided his length to her entrance, just barely edging inside in order to give her time to adjust. Her breath stilled in her throat, taken slightly aback by the unfamiliar sensation, but she soon adjusted and gave him the cue to continue.

Ever so slowly, he continued pressing further in, exhaling sharply as she grew tighter around him. “Are you okay?” he asked hesitantly, unsure if he should keep going.

It took her a moment to regain her breath, but she soon answered with a quick nod. “I’m fine…Just a little nervous…”

“Do you want to stop?” he whispered, his brows furrowing slightly in concern. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

“No...I want this,” she replied immediately, her eyes urgently meeting his. “I want you.”

Though he still seemed a bit uncertain, he appeared to accept her answer and soon enough, returned to his task. He kept going, deeper and deeper, until he finally hit the hilt. His eyes were screwed shut in concentration and he was panting heavily. Her uneven breathing matched a pace similar to his, but she finally let out a sigh of satisfaction as she adapted to the feeling of being utterly  _full_  of him.

After they’d both had enough time to adjust, Alistair slowly began sliding back before thrusting forward firmly. They both released a chorus of moans, each reveling in their own pleasure as he modified his pace. They kept going, the friction building and building as they grew ever closer to their breaking point.

“Manon…” Alistair muttered gruffly. “I-I’m going to…”

“Don’t stop…” she begged in a breathy voice. “ _Alistair_ , ohhh…”

He grunted in frustration, her words threatening to send him over the edge. Struggling to keep going, he held out for as long as he could, but  _Maker_ , she was making it difficult. He gave one hard thrust within her, hitting her at just the right angle, and she practically howled in response. Her head tipped back in pure elation and she screamed his name to the heavens.

At that, he reached his limit, and with a low groan, the tension he’d been holding back shattered. He came hard inside her, his warm seed filling her rapidly, and she soon found her release as well. With a euphoric moan, the waves of pleasure began cascading throughout her body, her walls clamping down on him in sync with his tremors.

They rode out the last surges of their orgasms before Alistair collapsed in a boneless heap, barely remembering to roll to the side to avoid crushing her. Panting heavily, they lay in silence for several moments before Alistair shuffled over to gather her in his arms. She immediately snuggled closer, nuzzling against his chest as she curled up in his embrace.

As their breathing settled and their heartbeats calmed, they were content to relax, simply enjoying one another’s company. Eventually, Alistair glanced down at her and began chuckling.

Looking up at him curiously, she asked, “What is it?”

His face shifting into a smirk, he began absently running his hand along her spine. “You know…according to all the Sisters at the Monastery, I should have been struck by lightning by now.”

“That so?” she asked with amusement.

“Yep,” he answered briskly, his eyes squinting mischievously. “Lightning first, then the end of civilization as we know it. I’m a  _bad, bad_  man.”

She giggled at that and shifted back slightly so she could look up at his face more easily.

“You do realize the rest of our little party here is going to talk right? They do that.”

“Let them talk. I don’t care,” she answered blissfully, staring up at him with dreamy eyes.

“Oh, sure, you say that now, but just wait until tomorrow…It’ll be all awkward silences and they’ll be staring at us nonstop.”

“I don’t care,” she mumbled happily as she cuddled up closer to him. As long as I have you, that’s all that matters…”

He gave a soft chuckle and lifted a hand to gently brush along her cheek. They sat peacefully a little while longer as he softly traced circles against her shoulder.

Ultimately though, he broke the silence with another question. “So…what now? Where do we go from here?”

Manon looked up at him, meeting his gaze before she spoke. “We stick together, no matter what.”

He let out a small snort in response. “Right, of course. I think I can handle that.”

Neither of them spoke for a while and a silence settled over them, but it was less of a comfortable silence than it had been before. Manon tensed the barest amount and Alistair seemed to sense her uncertainty. Tightening his grip slightly, he pulled her close and whispered, “I love you.”

She immediately stilled beneath him, and for a moment, he worried she’d stopped breathing. Eventually, he could feel her looking up at him and heard the soft surprise of her voice. “You…you love me?” she asked breathlessly.

He met her gaze seriously and took the chance to gently cup her cheek. “I do. More than I ever thought possible.”

Her breath hitched in her throat and she fought the urge to bring a hand to her mouth. She stared at him in astonishment and shook her head slightly in disbelief before a smile cracked onto her face. Soon, she was breaking out in genuine laughter and tears of joy began to stream down her face. She almost didn’t believe it, but he was  _here_  and he was  _real_  and, by the Maker, he  _loved her_.

“I love you too,” she whimpered, throwing her arms around him and shoving her face against his chest.

He smiled broadly, his eyes welling up with affection as he pulled her closer, pressing a firm kiss to the crown of her head. They lay like that, wrapped in one another’s embrace, until ultimately, they were pulled into the dreaming realm of the Fade.


	19. A Rock and a Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A golem named Shale joins the party. Later, the group’s camp is attacked by darkspawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do some plot adjustment here...Manon isn’t really the type to go out of her way in search of a war golem, so I turned it into more of a convenient situation.

Manon and her party had prepared to set course for Orzammar, intending to finalize the last of their alliances, but once they’d gotten on the road, they’d caught wind of a rumor. Apparently a small town just to the south of Redcliffe known as Honnleath was overrun with darkspawn and the villagers trapped within. Ordinarily, Manon would have dismissed such a rumor, since the likelihood of it being true was next to none and villages such as Lothering had already been lost to the Blight. However, the town wasn’t terribly out of the way and if there really were townspeople in need of rescuing, her conscience wouldn’t allow her to ignore their pleas for help.

As such, they quickly changed course and headed in the direction of the small village. Upon arriving at the scene, they were met with a familiar sight. Darkspawn swarmed the town, skulking about aimlessly until they took notice of their presence. Soon enough, they were letting out various snarls and charging at the group, poised to attack. Though they were numerous, Manon and her companions were quick to dispose of them; fighting the beasts having become somewhat of a routine for them.

After finishing off the creatures, Manon would have expected the villagers holed up in their homes to come running out to freedom, but even though the threat was gone, the town remained eerily silent. Were they too late, after all?

Tentatively, she began making her way through the village, looking about for signs of life or some other clue as to where the residents might have gone. As they neared a clearing, a particularly large statue positioned in the center caught her eye. She wouldn’t normally have noticed such a thing, but this was somewhat peculiar. Its pose was atypical, to say the least, with its knees bent at an awkward angle and its arms reaching out to the sky as though it were trying to snatch something from the air. As they got closer, she spotted several more unusual things about the statue. For one, it was embedded with numerous crystals, which didn’t seem to serve any obvious purpose, but for another, it appeared as though the structure was composed of various pieces of rubble, rather than having been carved from a block of stone.

She continued to inspect the statue, albeit from a distance, until her train of thought was interrupted by Wynne’s musing. “This is a golem, I believe. Damaged, perhaps beyond repair…There _may_ be a way to reactivate it, though that is not necessarily wise.”

A golem, then? Something about that rang familiar…

Upon further investigation, Manon began to realize why the statue had caught her eye in the first place. Though its shape was more unique, it was rather similar to the golem form she’d had to take when maneuvering the Sloth demon’s dream in the Fade.

Did it have something to do with the missing villagers? She couldn’t be certain. They needed to search for more clues.

They continued further into the town, making their way through various houses as they hunted for any sort of explanation. For the longest time, they weren’t meeting any results, and Manon was just about ready to give up, when they finally came across a secluded house near the back of the village.

After they managed to get the door to the cellar open, they came to an abrupt halt, taking notice of the large group of people huddled in one of the dark corners. Manon wouldn’t have even noticed them at first glance, but the bright purple barrier that shielded them instantly drew attention to their hiding spot. One woman hesitantly glanced up at the entryway, uncertain what kind of intruder awaited them, but as soon as she saw Manon and her party, her face lit up.

“By the Maker, we’re saved!”

The others quickly looked up, curious as to what the fuss was about, and they, too, leapt to their feet in excitement. One man approached more cautiously, though; looking the outsiders up and down before speaking with mild skepticism.

“You…weren’t sent by the Bann, were you? To save us?”

Manon responded with a quick shake of her head. “As far as I’m aware, the Bann wasn’t sending anyone…I came because of a rumor I’d heard.”

“I suppose I should be grateful someone came at all, then,” he said with a somewhat sarcastic chuckle. “Thank you.”

“Are the darkspawn gone?” someone called out.

“Yes, they’re all dead. It should be safe to leave.”

The man who’d inquired if she’d been sent by the Bann gave a tentative look at the others before waving his hand across the surface of the barrier. There was a small flicker across the surface, a quick flash of light, before it transitioned to a pale yellow color. He gave them a nod of approval before they took off, no doubt itching to escape after who knows how long they’d been cooped up.

“There is…one more matter I require your help with,” he added, his gaze shifting to the side guiltily. He quickly gestured for Manon and the others to follow through. They glanced at one another in mild uncertainty, but it seemed harmless enough.

She approached the barrier cautiously, her fingers just grazing the surface. A small rippling effect scattered across the magical shield, and it seemed pliable enough to enter. With one last look at her group, she stepped through the blockade effortlessly.

“Look, I know you probably have more important things on your mind, but…I really need your help,” the man said with mild desperation. “I know you already saved my life, and I’m grateful, but my daughter is still inside the laboratory. She was afraid…and ran too far in before I could stop her. I-I don’t know how she made it past my father’s defenses…One of the men tried to go after her. He was killed, but…you could find her, couldn’t you?”

“Your…father’s defenses?”

“Yes, this…this was my father’s laboratory. Before…before he passed. He was a mage to the Arl of Redcliffe and a hero in the war against Orlais, but…” he scoffed. “Of course he met his end with that damnable golem…”

“Are you perhaps referring to the statue in the courtyard?”

“Yes…It’s…” He gave a frustrated sigh. “You likely have an excess of questions in regards to my father’s research, but please…Amalia is down there and I’m worried. If-If you rescue her, I’ll give you the golem’s control rod, how about that?”

“Ah, well…” Manon quickly felt a wave of guilt rush over her. She had planned on rescuing the child, of course, but she’d wanted to get as much information on the situation as possible. Apparently the golem was unrelated, and as such, it could wait. “R-Right…I’ll see what I can do.”

They didn’t have to look much further before they came across the girl, speaking to a cat of all things. Manon let out a sigh of relief, telling her that her father was looking for her, but Amalia didn’t seem to want to leave, insisting that the cat would be lonely.

“You are so kind, Amalia. I would miss you dearly if you left.” A warm, enticing voice emanated from the feline, a sound that might have been described as soothing if the situation weren’t so unnerving.

“That’s…not really a cat, is it?”

“Of course she’s a cat. She just talks, that’s all,” Amalia insisted with a matter-of-fact voice.

“Talking is simple enough, once you know how,” said the cat. It cocked its head at Manon, its dark eyes peering into her. “Nothing you say will convince Amalia to go with you. She loves only me now. I am her friend, while you are just a stranger.”

Manon narrowed her eyes in confrontation. “Is that so?”

“I have been bound to this chamber for decades, cut off from all contact. It has been maddening. Release me, mortal, and let me have the girl. Let us return to her father and leave this place forever.”

Ah. A demon, then. She would have to be smart about this.

“If I release you…will you leave her be?”

The demon seemed unwilling to part with the girl, but given its limited options, reluctantly agreed to her terms.

Disarming the wards was complicated, as were most of the puzzles Manon encountered, but as with each one before, she was able to find its solution. The demon, once freed, however, did not seem satisfied with its freedom and insisted that it would take the girl anyhow. Thankfully, Amalia was not so agreeable with the idea and fled the scene before any real damage could be done. The shape of the cat slowly melted away, giving way to the familiar shape of a desire demon; which, like the dozens of demons that came before it, ultimately met its end by the party’s blades.

The girl’s father showed no end to his gratitude, thanking them endlessly before handing over the control rod. “You’ll need a phrase to activate it,” he explained. “It’s ‘dulen harn.’ I wouldn’t want the thing, but it’s obvious you can handle yourself just fine…Now we should go, and quickly. Thank you again. We owe you our lives.”

\------

Manon approached the golem slowly, her actions filled with uncertainty. After another quick glance back to her party, she ran the control rod between her palms, as if she were testing its weight. Upon letting out a deep breath, she raised the rod into the air and uttered, “Dulen harn.”

At first, nothing happened, and Manon wondered if she’d said it wrong, but soon enough, the creature’s head began to twitch, as did its other body parts. Small pieces of gravel fell to the ground as its limbs began to loosen, and in no time at all, it was stretching its arms out fully and shaking them out before it stood at its full height.

Manon took a tentative step back while the others reached for their weapons. She held the control rod tightly in her grip, pressed against her chest as she stared at the creature, wide-eyed. She had its control rod, she told herself. She should be able to stop it if it tried anything.

What she wasn’t expecting, however, was for the golem to speak.

“I knew that the day would come when someone would find the control rod. And not even a mage this time. Probably stumbled across the rod by accident, I suppose. Typical.” Its voice was rather nonchalant, and thick with annoyance. It even performed a shrug at the end of its musings.

Staring agape at the golem, Manon attempted to find the words to speak. “Um…hello to you, too…”

“I stood here in this spot and watched the wretched little villagers scurry around me for, oh, I have no idea how long. Many, _many_ years.”

“…And the villagers had no idea they were being watched…” Alistair mumbled next to her. “Creepy…”

It let out a sigh before continuing. “I was just beginning to get used to the quiet, too. Tell me, are _all_ the villagers dead?”

Manon hesitated. This creature clearly wasn’t fond of the villagers…If she told it they were still alive, would it try to finish the job itself?

“I…take it you wouldn’t mind if they were?”

“Familiarity breeds contempt, as they say, and after thirty years as a captive audience, I was as familiar with these villagers as one could possibly be,” it drawled. “Not that I wish their fate on them, no, but it did make for a delightful change of pace…Well, go on, then. Out with it. What is its command?”

Squinting at the golem in confusion, Manon asked, “Why are you calling me ‘it’?”

“Entrenched sense of perversity,” it answered plainly. “The last one who owned that damnable rod used to call me ‘golem.’” Its tone switched to one of even more irritation and sarcasm as it mimicked the owner in question. “’Golem, fetch me that chair.’ ‘Do be a good golem and squash that insipid bandit.’ And let’s not forget ‘Golem, pick me up. I _tire_ of walking.’”

Manon couldn’t help but flinch internally at its – their words. She _had_ been thinking of the golem as an object rather than a person, willingly or not.

“It _does_ have the control rod, doesn’t it? I am awake, so it…must…” There was hesitation in their words…enough to make Manon curious.

“Is something wrong?”

“I _see_ the control rod, yet I feel…” They paused for a moment, in seeming contemplation before continuing. “Go on. Order me to do something.”

“Um…okay,” she said with uncertainty before pointing at a nearby house. “Walk over there.”

“And…nothing? I feel nothing,” they muttered in confusion. “I feel no compulsion to carry out its command. I suppose this means the rod is…broken?”

Manon did her best to ignore the lump forming in her throat. If the creature couldn’t be controlled, was that going to be a problem? “So…what happens now?” she asked tentatively.

“Hmm…I suppose if I can’t be commanded, this means…I have free will, yes? It is simply…what should I do? I have no memories beyond watching this village for so long. I have no purpose…I find myself at a bit of a loss.” Their face might have scrunched up then, if it weren’t made of rocks. “What about it? It must have awoken me for some reason, no? What did it intend to do with me?”

“I…hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest.”

“I see. _Wonderful_.” They gave a bitter sigh. “I suppose I have two options, do I not? Go with it, or…go elsewhere? I…do not even know what lies beyond this village.”

“Well…” Manon began. “What do you want to do?”

“I watched this village for so long, unable to move or act. My memories of anything before are…vague at best. So I have no idea what I want to do. I am glad to be mobile, is that not enough?”

Various thoughts began running through Manon’s head. Having a golem’s assistance in battle would certainly be useful, but the knowledge that they killed their former master nagged at the back of her mind. “And, ah…how do I know that you can be trusted?”

“I have no idea. How does it trust anything else without a control rod?”

That was…certainly a fair enough argument.

“Good point,” she said with a slight shrug.

“They haven’t killed it yet. I consider this a good sign.”

The golem had also yet to kill her…And while she wasn’t exactly certain what to expect from them, it certainly didn’t seem like it would be prone to killing her in her sleep.

“Well, you’re welcome to come with me,” she offered.

“Aaaare you certain you want to bring that…thing…with us?” Alistair asked, clear hesitation in his voice. “It could be dangerous. And _large_.”

“Just…think of it as a portable battering ram,” she suggested with forced optimism.

“Good point…” he muttered with amusement. “Better it than me, anyhow.”

Ignoring Alistair’s commentary, the golem proceeded to declare, “I will follow it about, then…for now. I am called Shale by the way.”

“Welcome aboard, Shale.”

\------

A sickening green hue clung to the sky, bleeding into its surroundings. Everything in Manon’s field of vision pulsated excessively, nearly overwhelming her. The familiar shape of the archdemon came into sight, taking perch upon a rocky outcropping before its neck snapped in her direction. In that moment, she felt her blood run cold, and despite the adrenaline pulsing through her system, her heart ceased to beat.

It was as if it were staring right through her, or rather, peering into her soul. Its attention was turned on her and her alone, and that realization frightened her above all else.

A low, threatening roar escaped from its throat, echoing throughout her mind, before she was shaken into the waking realm.

Shooting upright abruptly, she began gasping for air, beads of sweat beginning to drip down her forehead.

“You’re awake!” Alistair exclaimed, his breathing somewhat strained. “Did you…did you feel it, too?” His voice remained panicked as he stared at her with worry. “It was like the archdemon saw us. _Saw us!_ What does that mean?”

She didn’t know. She couldn’t think properly…Those menacing, soulless eyes were consuming her every thought. Her grip on her blanket tightened, her knuckles quickly turning white as she struggled to catch her breath.

“I think-” he began, but promptly cut himself off. Narrowing his eyes, he turned toward one corner of the tent, his focus intensifying. “Did you hear that?”

She tried to concentrate her hearing, listening for any odd noises. A muffled rustling sound was the only warning they had before they were attacked.

It all happened so fast. The claws came slashing through the tent’s canvas long before they heard the screeching wails of the shrieks. Manon let out a scream of her own as she froze with panic. Alistair instinctively shoved her out of the way as he dove for his sword, determined to keep her safe.

He did well to fight them off, especially for being without armor, but there was only so much one person could do against two darkspawn unprotected. As he focused on keeping one of the shrieks at bay, the other quickly found a hole in his defenses and made one harsh swipe against his exposed flesh. He let out a cry of pain as the claws raked down his back and Manon’s eyes filled with horror.

She struggled on the floor, crawling to the edge of the tent to stretch for her crossbow, which rested just barely out of reach. Fumbling with the weapon, she desperately loaded a bolt with shaking hands before managing to fire at the creature.

The force of the bolt shot straight through the creature’s neck, killing it instantaneously as it flew out of the tent. The other shriek’s attention was diverted momentarily, which was enough of a chance for Alistair to deliver the finishing blow.

He gave a determined shout before falling to his knee with a grunt. Dropping her weapon, Manon rushed to her feet as quickly as possible and dropped to his side. Her hands hovered beside him for several moments, unsure if she should touch him or not, as she looked at him in worry. “Alistair, I…” she croaked, guilt etched in her words.

Wincing, he turned his gaze to her and with some effort, reached to cup her cheek. “You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked in a strained voice.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she managed to shake her head in place of her words.

“Good…” he said with relief, before giving a forced chuckle. “Sadly, I can’t say the same for myself…Could you, ah…” He coughed a little, grimacing as he inhaled sharply. “Could you get Wynne, please?”

She nodded hurriedly before scrambling out of the tent in search of the mage.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long to locate her. She found Wynne in the center of camp, standing over a couple of darkspawn that she and Morrigan had taken the liberty of killing.

“Wynne!” she yelped with urgency, her eyes wild and anxious.

At the call of her name, the older woman glanced up to meet Manon’s gaze, her brows drawing together in concern.

“Come quickly!” she continued frantically. “Alistair, he – he’s been hurt…”

That was all she needed to say. Without another word, Manon quickly turned on her heel and fled back to the tent, with Wynne following in turn. Upon returning to the tent, Manon quickly dropped to her knees, reaching out to her injured lover, who was doing a poor job of hiding his discomfort.

“It’ll be okay,” she breathed with reassurance, clutching his hand for dear life. “Wynne’s here now…” Her words seemed to be an attempt to calm herself in addition to Alistair, but they weren’t doing much good if her shaking hands were any indication.

Wynne stared at the two Wardens in contemplation for a moment before joining Manon at Alistair’s side. She quickly got to work, a soft blue glow encompassing her hands as she hovered above his wounded flesh.

Almost instantly, Alistair’s expression began to relax, the muscles in his face loosening and his brows easing apart. A small sigh of appreciation escaped his lips and he allowed his head to rest against Manon’s leg. Her other hand quickly sought his cheek, rubbing comforting circles against the rough skin as she looked at him in worry.

Soon enough, the marks on his back began to disappear, fading away as the skin worked its way back together. Wynne remained for a few more moments, ensuring that he’d healed completely before she rose to her feet.

“Thank you…” Manon mumbled breathlessly, her eyes shutting tight in gratitude as she held Alistair close.

“It was no trouble,” she said simply, her gaze lingering on the pair a while longer. As she made to leave, she spared one more glance over her shoulder before adding, “The sun has yet to rise, but I would suggest we pull up camp sooner rather than later. I’ll go assist Morrigan while you decide where we ought to head next.”

Alistair’s eyes began to flutter open and he looked up at Manon with a wry smile. “Hey.”

Though her brows were still creased with concern, she couldn’t help but crack a smile back at him. “Hello yourself…” She let out a sigh as she began running her fingers through his hair. “You really need to stop being so chivalrous…Just look at the trouble you get yourself into.”

“And risk you suffering the same fate?” he asked with a solemn chuckle. “Never.”

They sat in silence for a few moments more and she continued her gentile ministrations before her gaze turned to the shredded remains of the tent. “Why were we attacked in the first place…?”

He shifted his shoulders in what could have been a shrug. “I guess it’s like Duncan once said: we can sense them, and they can sense us.”

“I suppose that makes sense…”

There was another long stretch of silence, filling the air as they sat in reflection.

“It still hurts...doesn’t it?” Manon’s soft voice may as well have been a blade for the way she was able to shatter the quiet that had permeated the tent.

Alistair made a stifled choking sound before he attempted to cover it up. “What are you talking about?” he asked with a forced smile. “Wynne fixed me up, remember?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she advised gently.

He let out a defeated sigh before glancing at her with a raised brow. “I’m really that obvious, am I?”

“It was more of a guess…but yes. A little bit…”

A somber laugh escaped his throat as he shut his eyes in dissatisfaction. “I just wish…I don’t know…It would be nice to have something to remember him by, is all.”

She pursed her lips together, brows drawn together with intense focus before an idea occurred to her.

“Perhaps there’s a way to remedy that.”

He glanced at her warily before asking with caution, “What do you mean?”

“At…At Ostagar. There has to be something we could retrieve…And…maybe we could, well…we could honor those who were lost while we were there.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head slightly as he considered the absurd idea. “You _are_ aware that darkspawn have overtaken Ostagar, right?”

“Yes, but…it’s important to you. And we were just attacked in our own camp. What difference would it really make if we took the fight to them for once?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but promptly shut it. His face scrunched up in contemplation and he was quiet for a long while before he finally responded. “Ah, what the heck…Might as well give it a shot, right?”


	20. Down This Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party returns to Ostagar to grieve for those lost. Afterwards, Wynne apologizes to Manon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20 Chapters...We’re about 2/3 of the way done...
> 
> (Warning: graphic descriptions of body decomposition.)

A light dusting of snow covered the ground, as evidence of the first days of winter. The soft sound of boots crunching through the frost that echoed throughout the valley made it feel as though they were the only ones for miles, though they knew that was not the case. The darkspawn were likely not much further in, or were in hiding somewhere nearby. Still, the somber snowfall accompanying the endless stretch of silence did nothing to detract from the impression that they were walking through a graveyard.

Manon pulled her cloak tighter as they pressed forward, glancing about at the ruins of what was once a magnificent fortress. The last time she’d been here, before the battle, that is, the place had been bustling with activity. People filled every nook and cranny; recruits gossiped, soldiers trained, and Chantry clerics recited their sermons to devout listeners. The stark contrast of the energy that had previously occupied the space to the desolate courtyard they faced now was enough to send a shiver down her spine. It had only been a few months since the battle took place, and yet it felt like it happened in another life.

“Something about returning here makes me feel old, Wynne…” Alistair muttered softly, his solemn voice breaking the silence.

“And what exactly are you implying, Alistair?” Despite their grim setting or the circumstances that brought them here, a small smirk still managed to find its way onto her lips.

“What?” His gaze was somewhat distant, his words uncertain, as if he didn’t fully comprehend her meaning. The implication caught up with him quickly enough, and he hurriedly began backtracking. “What? No, I just – thought…”

“You just thought I might be an expert at feeling old…and could share some _sage_ advice.”

“I-I just mean that I was a different _person_ then,” he stammered. “…I _believed_ him, y’know? That it would be a glorious battle, that we’d _win_.”

“I did, too,” Wynne answered quietly. “We were all a little bit younger the last time we were here.”

“Well…not you. You’ve always been old.”

Manon couldn’t help but snort at that, and immediately threw a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise.

“With lip like that, son,” Wynne seethed, her enunciation very deliberate. “You’ll be lucky if you live to be half my age.”

Alistair coughed uncomfortably, throwing pleading eyes to Manon, asking for support. She could only shrug noncommittally as she smiled at him. He’d dug his own grave with this one…There wasn’t much she could do to help him out of it.

The amusement of their jest could only last so long. Soon enough, their surroundings caught up with them and the sorrowful expressions had returned to their faces once more. They headed into the main courtyard, passing by the kennels when Truffles stopped abruptly. He stared at the enclosure for a good, long while before letting out a small whine.

Crouching down next to him, Manon began rubbing her hand along his back in consolation. “I’m sorry, boy…I bet you miss your friends, don’t you?”

He responded with another sad whimper, his ears drooping as he leaned into his owner’s embrace. Manon exhaled deeply as she pet the poor mabari. The soldiers and Wardens hadn’t been the only ones slaughtered by the darkspawn…She could recall how the kennel had previously been filled with countless energetic hounds, which had been released into battle not a day later.

In the midst of their mourning, Truffles’ ears perked up suddenly and he fixed his gaze on one of the archways. Manon followed his gaze expectantly, focusing her hearing as best she could. It didn’t take long before the familiar pinprick sensation at the back of her neck appeared and she got to her feet, readying herself for battle.

Sure enough, a couple of genlocks and hurlocks came storming into the courtyard, charging into battle. They shot their arrows, Alistair swung his sword; they slashed daggers, while Wynne cast healing spells. It was all very repetitive by this point, somewhat of a routine for the group. Find some darkspawn, fight the darkspawn. Sense some darkspawn, kill the darkspawn. Manon wasn’t sure when exactly it had gotten so jaded, so tedious, but nevertheless, the feeling remained. She would have expected for her and her companions to lash out at the creatures once they’d returned to Ostagar. To have the chance to get revenge for their fallen comrades seemed like an appealing opportunity…And yet, none of them seemed to have the energy to pull it off. They all carried an aura of melancholy, their eyes foggy with disinterest and their stances weighed down by the weight of all they carried.

When they’d finished off the creatures, they moved onto the next task of looting the bodies. As they were searching one of the hurlocks, Alistair’s eyes widened as they trained on the monster’s greaves. “Those…those were Cailan’s.” He removed the armor as quickly as possible, cleaning off the grime as he inspected them. “They had to be. He was the only one who wore golden armor like this…” His brows knotted together as he frowned at the greaves and hissed, “Why was _it_ wearing them?”

A good question. If someone, or in this case, a darkspawn, were to take the king’s armor for themselves, then why wouldn’t they wear the whole set? That obviously hadn’t been what Alistair meant, but it got Manon thinking. Perhaps they’d divvied up the pieces amongst some of the more powerful members of the darkspawn rank? They’d pulled the greaves off of a more powerful hurlock, after all.

Come to think of it… _Did_ the darkspawn have ranks? They never seemed super coordinated in battle, and she certainly didn’t think them intelligent enough to organize themselves in such a manner, but it was possible that intelligence didn’t have anything to do with it. Maybe this sort of thing was instinctual to them.

In any case, it was likely that the rest of the king’s armor rested in the hands of other darkspawn in the area. While they’d come here hoping to retrieve something of Duncan’s, it only made sense for them to reclaim Cailan’s armor as well.

They continued on, gradually making their way to the bridge that stretched across the valley. Manon came to a stop just before they reached it. Slowly, she panned her gaze across the scene before it landed upon the Tower of Ishal. This was where she and Alistair had first stood during the battle; waiting for the first blades to fall. It was here that the archers had let loose a hail of arrows, raining fire down upon the gorge below. She’d known the battle would be hard-fought, but she had no idea just how intense it would be until that moment. The sheer scale of the enemy, swarming the horizon as they encroached on the battlefield, coupled with the roaring cries of valor that sang from her allies’ throats managed to give her a little more insight into what was to be expected in war. It had almost been too much…She’d nearly been overwhelmed at times, and yet…The fierce shouts of their king inspiring their forces did manage to make her feel something. If not motivated to engage in battle, then pride for being counted among such an honorable group of people. It was a shame it did not last longer.

Letting out a long, deep sigh, she pulled herself out of her memory and stepped forward onto the bridge. As they neared the center, their footsteps gradually slowed as their attention was pulled to a figure strung up on a stake. It seemed like the darkspawn had hung a corpse here; they’d been stripped down to their smalls and impaled harshly against the impromptu display. But why would they do such a thing? She came closer, trying to ignore the putrid stench wafting off of the decomposing body, and upon further inspection, let out a horrified gasp.

Alistair seemed to come to the realization at the same time as her, for he clapped his hand over his mouth, backing away with pained eyes, but unable to look away. He shook his head as he stared at the body in dread before he could take it no longer and ran to the edge of the bridge, emptying his stomach over the side.

It was Cailan. His body was nothing more than a beaten, bloody pulp at this point. He’d been pulverized to the point that his face was no longer recognizable, and the only reason Manon had been able to identify him at all was seeing the few spindly strands of golden hair that still clung to his head.

Her face scrunched up in pain as she stared at her former king, hung on display like some sort of bloody trophy and skewered like a human pincushion. He deserved more than this. She hadn’t known him long; only for a day or so, but during that time, she felt she’d gotten a clear glimpse at his character. While a bit naïve and foolish, he had a heart of gold. He was truly exhilarated to lead his people into battle, believing he could find glory for them all. He sought her out when she’d first arrived, insisting on learning her name and speaking to her as though she was a friend. And when she’d told him about the troubles her people faced in the Alienage, he appeared utterly shocked that something so awful could be allowed to happen, and it seemed like he was going to make an effort to fix it.

But his life had been cut too short. This young, honorable man had his life taken far too soon in favor of the wretched traitor that had left him to die.

Alistair gradually made his way back to the king’s body and managed to fix his gaze upon him. His pained expression mirrored Manon’s, his brows drawn together grief. “Ugh…they left him here to rot…” he muttered, wincing as he got another whiff of the awful stench. “We need to do something…”

“A traditional funeral consists of a pyre…right?” Manon asked, unsure. “He should be returned to the Maker’s side.”

“He was a good man, who hoped too much and died too young…” Alistair murmured softly, directing his gaze to the ground solemnly. “He deserves what little honor we can afford to grant him.”

The two turned back to the king’s corpse, each taking a deep breath before approaching further. They proceeded to pull the various blades and pikes that had been wedged in his body while Wynne got to work preparing the funeral pyre. Some of the weapons were deeply stuck, requiring more effort than necessary to pull them out. The rank odor wafting off of his decomposing flesh did nothing to help the process. On at least one occasion, pulling out some of the impalements resulted in decaying tissue being dragged out along with them. They both gagged at the sight, the stench threatening to overwhelm them, and ultimately, Manon ended up tossing her lunch as well.

When they finally managed to free his body from the confines of the darkspawn’s torture device, they worked together to support what was left of his corpse as they lifted it down to the ground. Wynne came back to assist them in transporting him to the bonfire, careful to keep him from crumbling apart further.

Upon reaching the pyre, they set him down gently, with as much respect as they could muster before Wynne set fire to the kindling. They all lowered their heads, agony etching onto their faces as they stood in silence. Wynne began mumbling a small prayer, perhaps the type a Chantry cleric would, to send him on his way, while Alistair could only stare ahead with a hard gaze. Manon released a shaky sigh, unable to face the king’s defiled body. Truffles let out a whine and she began petting him absently, comforting him as best she could while trying to keep her own emotions in check.

Eventually, after the king’s corpse had turned to ashes and all that remained of the pyre was a thin trail of smoke, the group said their last words of respect before departing.

They continued further into Ostagar, coming across more darkspawn who carried pieces of Cailan’s armor. At last, they’d managed to recover the last piece of the set, but had yet to find anything belonging to Duncan. Alistair turned his somber gaze to the distance, mumbling that it was fine, but Manon wasn’t about to give up so easily. The whole reason she’d suggested they come was to find something to remember the senior Warden by.

They made their way out of the tunnels and into a clearing; the valley just below the bridge. Most of the corpses that might have littered the battlefield had either decomposed at this point or been dragged off for who knows what reason, but there were still a substantial amount of bodies scattered throughout the field.

“Duncan was in the front lines, right?” Manon asked softly. “Maybe…Maybe he…” She trailed off, not wanting to finish that thought.

They searched the corpses, looking for something that might identify them like they had with Cailan, but there was no such luck. Each one they came across was practically unrecognizable, and besides, Alistair pointed out that none of them were wearing Duncan’s armor.

Just as they were about to give up the search, Alistair took notice of something. A long, shimmering blade extended from the chest of a fallen ogre, catching the light just so. Slowly, he approached the dead creature, inspecting the sword from a distance. With a bit of effort, he hoisted himself onto the darkspawn, reaching for the hilt of the blade. Resting his foot against the beast’s jaw, he used its body as leverage as he strained to pull the weapon from its chest. Thought it took a bit of effort, the sword finally came free, with only a minimal amount of blood caking its surface.

He made his way down from the ogre, cradling the blade in his hands as he looked it over.

“Is it his…?” Manon inquired, her voice careful and attentive.

He gave a single, affirmative nod. “Yes. I’d know it anywhere.” His voice was rough and raspy, his fingers trembling somewhat as he worked to clean the blade.

A small, sheepish smile found its way onto her face and she looked at him for a moment longer before deciding to give him some privacy. Though this journey had been taxing for them all, they had at least accomplished what they’d set out to do.

\------

“Manon? Might I have a word?”

Hesitantly, Manon glanced up at the older woman, her expression wary. Was she here to reprimand her about something else? Cautiously, she asked, “What is it?”

Wynne’s expression softened somewhat as she approached, taking a seat beside her. Turning her gentile gaze to Manon, she said, “It’s about you and Alistair…I came to apologize about what I said before.”

That was certainly surprising, and not at all what she’d been expecting. Her eyes widened to replicate her shock, but she remained silent as she waited for Wynne to continue.

“I have watched you for a time and…” She let out a soft sigh. “Perhaps I was wrong. There seems to be something special between the two of you.” Her lips spread into a smile as she continued, “He seems less guarded when in your company, allows himself to relax. And I can see how he has helped you in turn. I’ve noticed you smile more when he’s around…and you appear to have more faith in yourself with him by your side. You both seem genuinely happy.”

Manon fiddled with her hands in her lap and her gaze turned to the ground as a small smile tugged at her features. “I love him…” she uttered quietly.

“So it would seem,” Wynne observed with a knowing look. Her patient eyes continued to stare at the young Warden before guilt began to creep into them. “I…I think I was too harsh in my judgement before, and I am sorry.”

She _was_ sorry, and Manon could tell. She could hear it in her voice; could see it in the way her shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly. Letting out a small sigh of her own, she turned her gaze back to the mage. “It’s okay…I know you were just thinking of what was best for us…”

Wynne gave her a grateful look, which slowly shifted into one of slight regret. She turned her gaze to the side, exhaling slowly before speaking. “I was…and yet, I can’t help but wonder if I was being a little selfish myself.”  She paused a moment, contemplating her words. “Believe it or not, I was young once…and I made my own share of foolish choices when it came to matters of the heart.”

Manon glanced at her curiously, raising her brows slightly as she listened.

“I tried to tell myself I was looking out for your well-being, but perhaps I wasn’t placing enough trust in the two of you.” She shook her head before turning back to Manon. “What you have may not last forever…Death and duty may part you, but love’s worthiness is not diminished because of that. I should have seen this before,” she said with a tender smile. “Instead, you learn to cherish every precious moment that you spend together, knowing that it may be the last. And for those of us watching...well, it brings warmth to these old bones to know that something so beautiful can be found in the midst of chaos and strife.”

Her eyes welling up with emotion, Manon looked at her with a warm smile and whispered, “Thank you, Wynne…”

She chuckled in response before pulling Manon in for a small hug. “You are welcome, dear girl…I hope you are not too cross with me.”

Giggling in turn, Manon pulled back and looked at her with eyes full of mirth. “No. I know you were just trying to help. I’ll try not to hold it over you _too_ long…”

Wynne could only roll her eyes in response, shaking her head at the young Warden in disbelief.


	21. In His Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manon and company arrive in Orzammar, but the dwarven kingdom is in political chaos, and requires her intervention if they’re to unite against the Blight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my least favorite part of the story...can you tell? Somehow or other, though, I managed to find the inspiration to write this chapter...  
> School just started for me, and apparently I'm going to be working a lot of late hours. I'll do my best to update this fic semi-frequently, but I can't make any promises.

After nearly two weeks of travel, Manon’s party was finally nearing their destination. The crisp mountain air of the Frostbacks wafted over them, sending a chill to their bones. They’d been hiking up the rocky incline for days now, their feet throbbing in protest as they scaled the rough trail.

Finally, when it seemed as if their fingers might break off or their legs would give out, the steep slope began to peter out. The group picked up their pace as they approached the flat ground before stopping to catch their breath. Alistair immediately rushed over to a boulder, rubbing his sore muscles as best he could through the gaps in his armor, while Morrigan stretched out her limbs and muttered, “It’s about time…One would think such a prominent kingdom would be more accessible to the public…”

As she rested against a rocky wall, Manon glanced upward at the gates of Orzammar. They were incredibly large and imposing, with intricate carvings sculpted into the grand mountainside. The architecture was certainly unique, and was just as impressive as the structures she’d seen at Ostagar, if not more so.

Once they’d all had a chance to regain their energy, they began making their way toward the large stone staircase. As they approached, Manon took notice of a group of people gathered outside, seemingly in the midst of an argument.

“Vieta! This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings.” A short, stocky man dressed in an impressive set of armor stood before the grand doors, addressing a human. “I cannot allow entry at this time.”

“King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr or lords…or whatever you call them in your Assembly,” the man barked with irritation. “I am his appointed messenger.”

Wait…Did he say _King_ Loghain? That couldn’t be right. As far as Manon was aware, Loghain had no right to the throne save through his connection through his daughter…but that wasn’t how royalty worked, right? Besides…the country was still in the midst of civil war. She knew there were nobles that would not support him as Ferelden’s leader.

“I don’t care if you’re the King’s wiper,” the dwarf retorted. “Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled.”

Holding her head high, Manon approached the guard, hoping she appeared confident and with a sense of purpose. “Pardon me, but I have urgent business with your king.”

“Who doesn’t?” Loghain’s messenger asked in a biting tone. “If I don’t get in, no one should.”

Ignoring the man, the guard turned to Manon. “Orzammar has no king. Endrin Aeducan returned to the Stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his sons. The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor. If it is not settled soon, we risk a civil war.”

 _Great_. So the same political turmoil that was plaguing the surface was also afflicting the dwarven kingdom. This was going to be such a _delight_.

Putting her worries aside for the moment, she reached into her pack for the treaties that had brought her this far. “I am a Grey Warden, here in search for allies against the Blight. This treaty obliges Orzammar to aid me,” she said as she handed the document over.

The guard took the paper and looked it over calmly as the messenger began going on a nonsensical rant. “The Wardens killed King Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden! They’re sworn enemies of King Loghain!”

Manon fought the urge to roll her eyes. Either this man didn’t know what he was talking about or he was too loyal to Loghain to care for sense.

Luckily, the dwarven guard paid him no mind. Looking up from the document he proclaimed, “Well, that is the royal seal. That means only the Assembly is authorized to address it. Grey Warden, you may pass.” He handed back the treaty, which Manon accepted with a grateful smile.

“You’re letting in a traitor? And a foreigner?!” the messenger sputtered angrily. “In the name of King Loghain, I command that you execute this… _stain_ on the honor of Ferelden!”

Raising an eyebrow in challenge, Manon turned to Loghain’s lap-dog of a messenger. “You heard the man. The dwarves will not hear the demands of your false king today. Perhaps you should listen to them.”

“You…you’ll hear of this. King Loghain will see you quartered!” he exclaimed petulantly before turning on his heel and stomping away.

All bark and no bite, it would seem.

With the messenger out of both of their hair, the guard gave the command to open the gates and proceeded to welcome them to Orzammar. She nodded at him sincerely, thanking him for his help before she and her companions made their way inside.

As they continued in, they passed through a large, expansive hall lined with various statues and people flocking around them. They received a few curious looks, but otherwise, no one seemed to pay them any mind. When they went through the next set of doors, however, the sight that greeted them was much less placid.  

A decent number of dwarves had gathered in Orzammar’s common area, seemingly divided into two groups, and they were bickering endlessly with one another.

“It is the Assembly who makes a king, and a king who nominates his successor,” spoke a composed, grey-haired man. “None of it is carried in the blood.”

“Or, as now, when someone tries using the Assembly to pull a coup.” A younger man, whose blonde beard was woven into intricate braids countered in a biting tone, “Who’s to say what my father said in his final hours when the usurper Harrowmont was the only one by his side?”

The older man’s calm control seemed to waver, and he raised his voice a fraction before retorting, “I’ll have you thrown in prison!”

“You’ve bitten off more than you can chew!”

“Handlers!” One dwarf who had been previously standing on the sidelines spoke up to intervene. “Separate these deshyrs in the Diamond Quarter! I will not have Bhelen incite a riot!”

Reaching for his axe, the man who’d been standing next to the blonde dwarf grew enraged. “You’ll not speak that way about the man who should be king!” With a mighty roar, he brought his weapon down upon the poor man who’d dared to come between them, the blood splaying wildly.

Everyone who’d gathered to watch the scene fled in a panic, some tripping over themselves as they scrambled away in panic. They grey-haired man remained a moment longer, his expression wary before he fled with his supporters. The opposing party kept their gaze on them before they, too, departed.

Somewhat dumbfounded by the scene that just played before her, Manon stood in shock for several moments, unsure how to react. When a guard came waltzing into the courtyard, shouting for order, she was broken from her reverie and made her way over to ask some questions.

He was irritable at her presence, as might be expected, and visibly reluctant that she and her companions were allowed to meander about while the kingdom was in such a state. When she inquired about what the quarrel was about, he explained the situation in slightly more detail than she’d managed to gather thus far.

Apparently, the former king had named Harrowmont his successor on his deathbed, which apparently was a legitimate move in the eyes of this “Assembly”, but with no one there to know for certain, all they had was Harrowmont’s word. The kingdom was torn between supporting Bhelen, the next heir, or this Lord Harrowmont, and without unity, order was not something that was going to come easily.

It seemed that seeking out these candidates was the next logical step in figuring out how to fix the issue at hand, so; following the guard’s advice, Manon began making her way to the Diamond Quarter.

Not sure where exactly to start, she first went to the Chamber of the Assembly, figuring that most of the nobles would be congregating there. As she wandered in, looking about aimlessly for someone who might be of some help, she was approached by a dark-haired man.

“Warden, welcome,” he stated with a friendly grin. “It is always a blessing for Orzammar to host your Order. I am Vartag Gavorn, top advisor to our good prince Bhelen. What news do you bring?”

“The surface faces a Blight. I’ve come with treaties seeking aid from Orzammar.”

“Ah…Ancient documents, indeed…” he noted, stroking his short beard thoughtfully. “Now, the difficulty is that the treaty only compels our king, and we are sadly lacking one right now.”

“Is there any way I might be able to help?”

“My prince is the rightful king, but a disappointing number of lords back the upstart, Harrowmont for the throne. If you show your support for Prince Bhelen, he might be able to assist with your requests.”

“Um…I’ve heard that the previous king…supported Harrowmont?” she mentioned with slight hesitation.

“That hurts most of all,” Vartag lamented with a heavy sigh. “That Harrowmont would take advantage of the dying king’s delirium to plant such poisonous suspicions against his own son…After that, you understand why Bhelen cannot trust the word of a stranger, however reputable that stranger might be…”

Ah…so they were testing her loyalty, it seemed. Truth be told, she hadn’t exactly decided on a side yet, but if she could earn Bhelen’s trust and support his claim to the throne, then perhaps this whole mess would be over that much quicker. She _had_ been leaning towards his side as it was, given her lack of understanding with dwarven politics.

“What would you have me do, then?”

As it turned out, Harrowmont was deceiving some followers of his, by promising the same portion of his estate to two different deshyrs. Vartag asked that she show copies of Harrowmont’s promissery notes to the both of them in order to persuade them to change their votes.

Luckily, finding the nobles in question wasn’t terribly difficult. Lady Dace spent her time in the Diamond Quarter while Lord Helmi hung about in a tavern in the commons. Both seemed find the matter upsetting, granted…to different degrees, but nevertheless, they both agreed to revoke their support for Lord Harrowmont in favor of Bhelen.

Upon completing her task, Manon swiftly returned to the Chamber of the Assembly, seeking out Vartag. He waved her over and greeted her eagerly. “Lady Dace just came through the Quarter on a tear. She’s telling everyone who’ll listen what a leach and a liar is. Good job,” he said with a grin. “So you were serious about wanting to help us…Are you ready to meet Bhelen now?”

“Yes, take me to him.”

“I warn you, be on your best behavior.” His tone turned slightly more serious as his smile dropped. “And keep your weapons sheathed.”

Understandable enough. She could manage that.

Vartag proceeded to lead them through the Diamond Quarter towards the Royal Palace. Manon’s eyes widened a fraction as he paraded them through the chamber. The glimmering gold walls were enough to impress her, though she didn’t want to appear over-eager.

Their guide took them to a side entrance, a hole in the wall, so to speak, where Bhelen must have been hiding out from his opponents. As they entered, the man in question gave a friendly greeting. “I am impressed, Warden,” he chimed with a bright smile. “Not many outsiders so quickly grasp Orzammar’s rather…convoluted politics.”

Convoluted was right, but she wasn’t about to say that out loud.

“I am Prince Bhelen,” he continued. “Vartag told me of your efforts against the usurper who tried to claim my father’s throne. I appreciate your help.” He shook his head with slight aggravation. “This is a time for action, not cultured debate…We need absolute unity to fight against the fulcrum of true evil.”

“Then you’ll honor your agreement with the Wardens?” she asked hopefully.

“Absolutely. And sworn on the mail of my ancestors, as soon as Orzammar is united under my rule.” He turned his head to the side as he muttered bitterly, “Unfortunately, while this debate rages, I have no power to send the troops you need. You’ve seen for yourself; the city is a slaughterhouse! Criminals run lawless…I could never hold the throne if I allowed such chaos.”

“How can I help, then?”

“You have struck a blow against Harrowmont already, and I thank you for that, but there is another faction in play here. Have you heard of a woman named Jarvia and the carta of criminals she runs?”

“No…not really…”

“They know Orzammar is divided now and has no time for them. It’s made them bold. If I show the city I can eliminate such a threat, well…let’s just say my position would be _stronger_ …”

“Why haven’t you been able to take her out before?” she inquired.

“She is secretive, and is only the current leader of a group that has plagued Orzammar for years,” Bhelen explained. “They stay mostly in Dust Town below the city. Only casteless live there. They are too scared of reprisal to cooperate with guardsman, and frankly, until my father’s death, they only harassed their own kind. Now they attack honest citizens.”

“Very well…I’ll see what I can do.”

“Who knows…maybe the casteless will speak more freely with a stranger…” he noted with slight optimism. “I will wait eagerly for your return.”

She gave a small nod of respect before turning on her heel and departing with her companions.

\------

The moment Manon walked into Dust Town, she was met with the painful sting of familiarity. True to its name, dirt and dust lined the streets and were kicked into the air with each footstep. Dozens of people sat in grimy doorways, hunched over in the hopes of catching a few hours of rest, while others begged for coin. These were sights she knew all too well. But even so, walking through the filthy streets managed to tear at her heart in ways the Alienage never could. While her people lived in poverty, most at least had a home, or some way to earn some semblance of a living. The people here…they had nothing.

Exhaling deeply, she pressed forward, attempting to stay focused on the task at hand. She and her followers meandered about, searching for any signs of Jarvia or her hideout, but aside from a slightly suspicious locked door, their search yielded nothing. They were going to need some help.

Reluctantly, Manon began looking around the common area for someone who might be able to offer some advice, guilt bubbling up in her chest as she did so. These people were the ones that needed help; not her. Even if she offered them coin for their troubles, it wouldn’t make all their problems magically disappear. Still…they weren’t going to find Jarvia the old-fashioned way, that was for certain.

Ultimately, her eyes landed upon one woman who sat near a fire pit on the outskirts of the crowded square. She probably saw people coming and going all the time; maybe she could point them in the right direction.

Manon made her way towards her, shyly lifting a hand in greeting as she met the woman’s eyes.

“Well, look at that,” she remarked, her face lighting up slightly. “It’s not often ol’ Nadezda sees a fine-dressed stranger here in Dust Town. Help a poor cripple?”

“Of course,” Manon answered immediately. “But, um…First…I was wondering if you could help me out with something? Do you, by chance, know a woman named Jarvia?”

“Know her? I used to run with her,” Nadezda exclaimed. “Jarvia took over the carta not more than a year ago, and already she’s got every duster with both legs bearing swords for her.”

“Where could I find her?”

“Won’t be easy. She’s gotten real careful since Beraht died, _real_ paranoid,” she disclosed, leaning towards Manon as she hushed her voice. “She’s got carta members all carrying these finger bone tokens. She scratches some marks into them so she’ll know they came from her. There’s doors to her base all over the city, but only one is ever open at a time, and if you show up without a token, you’d never know it was there.”

That must have been the door they’d come across earlier.

“Do you know where I can find one of these tokens?”

“Can’t help you there, salroka,” she said with a shake of her head. “The carta members keep them _real_ tight…” Her expression turned slightly hopeful then, a glimmer in her eyes as she gazed up at Manon. “But…that’s worth something, right? Maybe just a little…”

“Here’s ten silver. I hope that helps,” Manon said with sympathy as she handed over the coin.

“I’ll think of you when I go to bed with a full stomach,” Nadezda replied, seemingly content.

Another sharp pang of remorse shot through Manon, then. She was all too familiar with the concept of going hungry, but it was never so bad that she and her family had to beg for money on the streets. She let out a soft sigh, doing her best to push the thoughts aside.

As luck would have it, they were attacked by a faction of the carta shortly after Manon’s conversation with Nadezda. Whether they’d been following her party or just happened upon them by coincidence, it didn’t really matter. They incapacitated them in minimal time and retrieved a bone token from one of the members.

They headed straight to the hidden entrance then, the finger bone locking perfectly into its little slot and they entered. Numerous members of the carta appeared to defend their base, but their efforts were in vain. One after another, each one fell to their blades, and Manon suspected that the number of Jarvia’s followers was slowly dwindling as they went.

Eventually, they reached the base’s inner chamber, coming face-to-face with the woman herself.

“So, Bhelen finally realized his throne means nothing if he can’t hold it, yet he still doesn’t bother to send his own men.” Manon was met with smug words oozing with self-righteousness as she and her companions stuttered to a halt. A self-assured grin tugged at Jarvia’s face before she narrowed her eyes at them. “Well, you picked the wrong side, stranger. It doesn’t matter who’s king, as long as there’s a queen!”

“You’re awfully cocky for someone whose entire carta is dead,” Manon retorted, raising her crossbow slowly so as not to draw notice.

“You’ll pay for their deaths a hundred times over.” All the smugness had vanished from the woman’s face and was instead replaced with an irate snarl. “Kill them! But leave the pretty one alive. I have plans for her.” She flashed Manon a menacing smile before leaping at her with lightning speed.

Manon was just barely able to keep up, unleashing a bolt at a speed that rivaled Jarvia’s, but it only succeeded in nicking her ear. She ducked out of the way, narrowly dodging one of the dwarven woman’s daggers as she readied her next bolt.

Alistair and Wynne were currently preoccupied with their own battles; they’d been surrounded by four carta members and were avidly working to keep them off them. Alistair rushed forward with his shield, sending one opponent flying while Wynne focused on casting a protective barrier. Neither of them could help.

Her crossbow reloaded, Manon began aiming, but Jarvia was dashing about back and forth with incredible swiftness; she could barely keep up, much less aim properly. The woman was approaching dangerously quickly and she panicked, releasing a bolt that completely missed its mark. Her heart leapt into her throat as her hands fumbled against her quiver. She’d never be able to reload in time.

She prepared herself to use her weapon as an impromptu shield in order to buy herself time to flee, but she drastically underestimated Jarvia’s ability to close the distance between them. Luckily, that didn’t seem to matter. Jarvia’s blade rested a breath away from Manon’s skin, close enough to kiss her nose, but the instant before it made contact, a large, stone hand lifted the woman up by the collar and flung her across the room as hard as it could.

Breathing heavily, her eyes wide with panic, Manon could barely form the words of thanks she so desperately wanted to give.

“It would appear it is in need of assistance,” Shale replied bluntly, as though the matter was as plain as day.

“Yes…” Manon gasped as she scrambled to her feet, preparing a bolt as she spoke. “It greatly appreciates the help…”

Ignoring her, the large golem proceeded to stomp across the clearing, their footsteps shaking the earth in the process. Woozy and bleeding from the head, Jarvia was attempting to rise to her feet, stumbling somewhat as she did so. Before she could regain her composure, Shale’s massive fingers clamped down around her head before she was lifted into the air and pommeled again the hard stone wall. Once. Twice. She was released from Shale’s grip; her face missing in favor of a blood-soaked, gory mess with her skull caving in.

The other two companions had been too distracted to witness Shale’s brutality, and it was only once they’d slain their foes that they took notice of the damage. Alistair grimaced as he sheathed his sword, not sure what to think of Shale’s part in the matter. Wynne’s expression was similarly morbid, though she remained quiet, instead opting to begin healing the party.

Manon elected not to speak on it, and began ushering everyone back the way they came. They needed to get the news to Bhelen. With luck, their actions would get him the support he needed. If they had to do much more of this nonsense, well…she just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.


	22. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While traveling the Deep Roads, Manon recounts a less-than happy memory.
> 
> (Warning: Mentions of attempted self-harm.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super nervous about the latter half of this chapter...At times, I feel like I'm not doing Alistair and Manon's relationship justice, or at least not explaining their support for one another to the fullest extent. I also wanted to avoid the trope of having the guy magically "fix" the girl's mental disabilities...even if, in this case, his help is to her benefit. Her self-doubt never really goes away, as you'll see later in the story, but it improves drastically thanks to her relationship with Alistair. I'm just not sure I'm showing the depth of that in my writing.

As it turned out, taking out Jarvia did not actually make Bhelen’s problems magically disappear. The Assembly was still deadlocked, and they would need a unifying voice to overrule the debate. And apparently Manon wasn’t qualified to be that voice. Instead, they were going to have to find a Paragon, a revered member of dwarven society, and the only living Paragon had disappeared into the Deep Roads several years back on an expedition of some sort. Which, of course, meant that Manon and her party needed to go searching for her.

They spent the afternoon gathering supplies from merchants, packing whatever they could carry. From the map Bhelen had given her, it appeared they had a ways to go before they would even come close to the last place Branka had been sighted at. Manon had no idea what these “Deep Roads” would be like, but given their name, it seemed like they were going to be traveling for quite a while and she wanted to be prepared for anything. When the group made their way to the gates, prepared to enter the unknown, they were stopped by an earnest redheaded dwarf.

“Stranger!” he called, stepping in front of their path in case they tried to ignore him. “Have you seen a Grey Warden hereabouts? I’ve been privy to the rumor that he…or, uh…was that she – You understand this was many mugs ago – was searching for Branka on Prince Bhelen’s own command.”

Amusement fell upon Manon’s face, her lips perking up slightly as she listened to him ramble on. “I believe I can help you with that…We happen to have two Grey Wardens among us.” She gestured to Alistair who gave a cheeky grin and a wave. “If you’re referring to me, then I would point out that it is, indeed, ‘she.’”

The dwarf gave them both a once-over before chuckling. “Well, if you’re the best they’ve got, then standards must have fallen _way_ down.” He tugged on the end of his matted beard, seemingly thinking it over before he continued, “But I suppose that would account for an elf being down here…Say, could I ask you a favor?”

Suppressing a sigh, Manon answered, “Sure. I can’t promise I’ll say yes, though.”

“Name’s Oghren, and if you’ve ever heard of me before, it’s probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong.” He gave a small laugh, seemingly amused at his comment. “And that’s mostly true, but the part they never say is how I’m the only one still trying to save our only Paragon…And if you’re looking for Branka, I’m the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her.”

“That certainly does sound helpful…what can you tell us?”

“Branka was looking for the Anvil of the Void. Might have been the most important invention in Orzammar’s history. The smith Caridin built it, and with it, Orzammar had a hundred years of peace, while it was protected by the golems forged on the Anvil. As far as anyone knows, the Anvil was built in the old Ortan Thaig. Branka planned to start looking there, if she could ever find it. All she knew was that it was past Caridin’s Cross…No one’s seen that thaig for five hundred years.”

“Bhelen gave me a map…It should lead us to Caridin’s Cross.”

“Hold on a sec,” Oghren protested in a low, gravelly voice. “Yer bringin’ all these folks with you?” He gestured to her companions gathered behind her.

Glancing back at them momentarily, Manon returned her gaze to the dwarf, her tone hesitant. “Yes…Why?”

He snorted, shaking his head slightly before speaking. “As much as I’d love the extra help, you’re gonna run out of supplies awful quick if you plan on bringin’ everyone here…Unless you got some sorta magic bag full of weeks of rations hidden somewhere…”

Her face fell slightly as she processed his words. “No…I’m afraid we don’t…”

“Well, then, I’d suggest you re-think this little trip o’ yours, or we’re all gonna be in for a rough time. Hunting nugs and deepstalkers only gets you so far, and there ain’t always a guarantee you can find food or water…You gotta take what you can and make it last.”

“I…hadn’t realized…” Manon muttered quietly, her expression turning pensive. Though she’d known the Deep Roads were a series of caves, it hadn’t occurred to her that it wouldn’t be the same as travelling on the surface. Water sources were likely hard to come by, if not nonexistent, and trading for supplies along the way wouldn’t be an option. She really should have thought this through more…

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to her group of followers. “Perhaps we should…um, reconvene at the palace? It looks like some of us will need to stay behind…”

“Taking residence in a luxurious suite while avoiding a long, arduous trip through a series of dank caves?” Morrigan mused. “I can think of worse punishments.”

As they made their way back to the palace, Manon began sorting through her thoughts, trying to figure out who she ought to bring with her. She wanted to ensure she put enough thought into it, hoping to avoid any more regretful situations.

By the time they’d returned to their private lounge, she felt she’d come to a decision. Alistair was a given. In addition to more…personal reasons, he was her fellow Grey Warden, and the two were the best equipped on their team to fight the numerous darkspawn they would no doubt encounter. Bringing Wynne was also an easy decision. Her healing skills were crucial, especially when they would be travelling for Maker knows how long into uncharted territory. And last but not least, she declared Shale ought to come along. Though they hadn’t been in her party very long, Manon knew that their strength and determination would come in handy. The fact that they didn’t need to eat would help with their limited supply problem, as well. As a result, Morrigan and Truffles would be the ones to stay behind while they travelled the Deep Roads.

Upon hearing this news, Morrigan’s face immediately scrunched up in disgust. “I retract my previous statement. I would much rather traverse the musty caves with you than spend weeks on end with only this…filthy mutt for companionship.” She inched away from Truffles, grimacing as she did so.

Sighing softly, Manon stepped closer to Morrigan and tried to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry, Morrigan. I’d take all of you if I could, but unfortunately, I just don’t think that’s possible…” When the mage refused to look at her, she continued, “I’m not saying you need to keep him in your room, but would you…take care of him? Just…make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble while we’re gone… I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

She stared at her with wide, pleading eyes, and reluctantly, Morrigan turned to face her. She met her stare for an agonizingly long moment before giving a low, aggravated sigh. “Ugh…very well. I will ensure the dog is still in one piece when you return. But I will hold you to that promise of yours.”

Her face lighting up, Manon let out a squeal of delight before wrapping her arms around the bitter woman. Morrigan instantly stiffened at the contact and let out a noise of disgust, but she didn’t fight against Manon’s affections. When Manon finally released her, the witch gave them all a stilted, indifferent farewell, though Manon didn’t miss the subtle look of longing on Morrigan’s face as her group departed.

\------

True to their name, the Deep Roads were, indeed, deep. They stretched on into what seemed like oblivion, with an endless amount of twists and turns leading them into dark, musty caverns. They followed the map and Oghren’s advice, pursuing Branka’s trail to the best of their abilities despite the many obstacles and creatures they faced along the way.

While most of their journey consisted of hiking through cramped rocky tunnels and avoiding lava flows, they did also come across an old dwarven ruin – a thaig, as Oghren had explained. According to him, the Deep Roads once spanned across Thedas, connecting the civilizations of the dwarven empire before they were lost to the darkspawn. The place Branka had been heading to was one such thaig. At this point in time, the group had found a small, sheltered clearing that they chose to camp in, and were in the process of settling down for the night.

Staring up at the ceiling of their tent, Manon furrowed her brows in contemplation. “I think today is my birthday…” she uttered softly, her face scrunching up with mild uncertainty.

Alistair’s head quickly whipped to the side to look at her. “What?” A mixture of shock and excitement laced their way into his voice. “Really?”

“Maybe. It’s hard to tell how much time passes down here, but based on what Oghren’s been telling us, it’s probably close enough.”

“Well, then!” he exclaimed with a gleeful smile. “Happy Birthday!” He leaned down to press a kiss against the crown of her head before ruffling her hair playfully. “I wish I’d known…I would have gotten you something.”

She chuckled, craning her neck to get a better view of his face. “Don’t worry about it. Having you here is the best gift I could ask for.” To prove her point, she leaned up to lock her lips with his, smiling into his mouth.

When they broke apart, he hummed with approval before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. He tucked his head into the crook of her neck, nuzzling the flesh there before murmuring in a teasing tone, “Would it be terribly rude of me to ask how old you are now? I’ve heard that’s a sensitive topic for some women.”

She snorted in response, rolling her eyes with exaggeration. “I’m nineteen now. And for the record, that kind of question is only considered rude when you’re asking it to older women.”

“Hey, how was I supposed to know?” he asked defensively, though his mouth was spread in a wide grin. “It’s so hard to tell how old elven women are…You could have been in your thirties for all I knew!”

His comment garnered another chuckle from her, but after a moment, her smile dropped and she grew silent. When she didn’t speak again, he tightened his embrace, running his hand along her arm before asking softly, “Is everything okay?”

There was another long pause and an audible intake of breath before she replied. “Does it…bother you that I’m an elf?” Her voice was small and quiet, dripping with fear and uncertainty.

Alistair closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, but wasted no time planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek. “I love everything about you… _including_ the parts that make you an elf.” He began leaving a trail of kisses against her neck, nibbling the ticklish flesh and prompting a giggle from her.

“I love your eyes,” he murmured as he continued peppering her with affection. “They’re so dark and beautiful…Just like the night sky.” He gently turned her around so that she was facing him and he began brushing his fingers against the side of her face. “I love your freckles. I want to trace them all and see what kind of constellations I can find.” He ran his index finger along her cheek, crossing over her forehead before poking her gently on the tip of her nose, which spurred her into giggles once more.

“I love your lips,” he continued, his voice lowering to a more intimate volume. “I’d kiss them all day if I had any choice in the matter…” To prove his point, he bent forward to capture her mouth with a sense of urgency. Manon moaned into his mouth, tugging on his neck as she deepened the kiss.

They parted slowly, staring into one another’s eyes as they rested their foreheads together. Alistair’s hand began trailing up Manon’s cheek. He played with her ear lobe between his fingers before softly caressing the shell of her ear. “And above all, I love your ears,” he whispered. “They’re adorable…They give you personality…Their shape is so unique. Pick whichever reasoning you like; my answer will always be the same. I love you, Manon Tabris. And that includes everything that makes you _you_.”

Tears began welling up in Manon’s eyes and she released a shuddered breath. Alistair immediately took to running his hand along her back in consolation as he held her close. She tried to suppress the emotion in her chest, but before she could do anything to stop it, the tears began to stream down her face. Soon enough, she was sobbing into his chest, clinging so tightly to his shirt that he found himself unable to move.

“M-Manon?” His voice became frantic and worried as soon as she had started weeping into his chest. “I-I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” His hands hovered over her a moment before he attempted to loosen her grip on his clothing. Eventually, he managed to pry her hands away and gently lifted her chin so that he could meet her gaze.

Her eyes were glassed over with tears, her cheeks red and puffy as snot ran from her nose. He spent a moment digging through his pockets before offering a handkerchief. She sniffled a bit before shyly accepting the garment and began blowing her nose. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into the cloth, her eyes directed downward.

“Don’t be…I just – Is something wrong? Maker, I said something incredibly stupid, didn’t I?”

“No,” she responded hurriedly, hoping to alleviate his worries. “I…I’m sorry, this is just…” She took a wavering breath, attempting to steady her voice. “I never expected to find someone like you…Someone who could…love a…knife-ea-” Her breath caught in her throat and she hiccupped before another tear leaked from her eye.

He quickly reached out to wipe it away, holding her face between his hands as he did so. “Is that what this is about?” he asked softly, his eyes full of pain for her.

“Y-Yes, but…” she stammered, wiping her eyes but doing everything in her power to avoid his gaze. “It’s more complicated than that…It’s…” A distressed sigh escaped her throat and she hung her head in despair. “You don’t want to hear more about my tragic past. I-I’ve ruined the mood enough for the evening.”

Tilting his head in an attempt to look her in the eye, Alistair spoke quietly, in as nonthreatening of a tone as he could manage. “I _do_ want to hear, though. If it’s causing you this much pain, I want to know how I can help…”  

“It’s…It’s not like what happened with my wedding, though…You – Maker, you might even resent me if I tell you…”

With extreme tenderness, he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, urging her to look at him. Reluctantly, she followed his wishes and stared at him with sorrowful eyes. “I doubt that’s possible,” he said in a gentle whisper.

Her bottom lip quivered and new tears were forming in her eyes, but after a long moment of deliberation, she fell against his chest and gave a hesitant sound of agreement.

“I can’t even look at you when I’m telling this story…Maker give me strength…” she mumbled under her breath.

Alistair remained silent. He took her hand in his, rubbing circles into her palm while he waited for her to find the courage to speak.

After an endless stretch of time where the only sound that filled the air was Manon’s shaky breathing, the silence was ultimately permeated by her quiet, raspy voice. “There’s lots of slurs the humans like to throw at us. I’ve heard them all by now…But I’m sure you know the most common one.”

He didn’t answer. They both knew which word she was referring to.

She was silent again for a while, struggling to find the appropriate words for what she wanted to say. “…You know how when you’re a child, you often misinterpret phrases or take them really literally?”

Alistair nodded, the motion slightly jarring against the back of her head. “I remember how confused I was when one of the maids in Redcliffe first used the term ‘raining cats and dogs’. I kept thinking mabari were going to start falling from the sky and was pestering the kennel master; insisting we set up nets to catch the creatures.”

That earned a chuckle from Manon and a small smile found its way onto her face, though he couldn’t see it from his angle. When she spoke again, the mirth in her voice was gone and her tone was solemn once more. “I had a…similar misinterpretation when I was younger…I think I was…six, maybe seven at the time.” She inhaled deeply before continuing. “It was the first time I’d heard that particular slur. Soris and I were playing near the gates of the Alienage when we caught wind of an argument in the marketplace. We went up to the gate to get a better view and saw that a human merchant was chewing out an elven servant, who was cowering in fear. ‘You stupid knife-ears can’t do anything right,’ he’d said. Or was it ‘Knife-ears ought to learn their place’? Either way…something about the way he’d phrased it made me interpret the word the way I did.

“I know now that the slur refers to our pointed ears…It’s fairly obvious when you think about it, but at the time, I was so hung up on the word ‘knife’. I thought…Maker, I thought they were telling us to cut off the tips of our ears…Like they were saying we wouldn’t be good enough unless we got rid of that one aberration.” She attempted to swallow the lump in her throat and clung to Alistair’s arm when her hands began to shake.

“For a while, I just saw it as an overly cruel insult and didn’t think much on it…Occasionally, I would pinch the little area at the top of my ears, wondering if I could gradually wear them away, but it was more of a nervous habit than a real desire to be rid of them…That ended up changing, though…many years later. I was ten, then. I remember it well. I was alone that day…Shianni and Soris were busy with chores, but I’d finished early, so I decided to go off and play. I was sitting on the bridge by the gate, seeing how far I could toss pebbles into the water below when I heard that word again. It came from the gate. I looked up to see who had said it, and there was a group of boys a little older than me. They said it again, as if I hadn’t heard them the first time. ‘Lookit the funny little knife-ear.’ ‘It’s soooo stupid looking.’ ‘Hey, knife-ear, get back in your cage!’”

Alistair’s hold on her tightened and he pressed a firm kiss between her shoulder blades as a fierce reminder of how much he cared for her. She was grateful for the gesture and took the chance to catch her breath before finding the strength to continue.

“I immediately started crying…A trait I seem to have carried into adulthood. But apparently that wasn’t enough for them…One of them picked up a nearby rock and tossed it through the holes in the gate before the others followed suit. None of them hit me, thankfully, and I ran out of there as fast as possible, but it was still so frightening…I – I went home as quick as I could, but I couldn’t get their words out of my head. The first thing I did when I got through the door was run to the kitchen and grab a knife from the drawer. I went to my bedroom, standing in front of the mirror, tears running down my face as I angled the knife to the top of my ear. I didn’t want to chop the whole thing off – just the tip, but my hand was shaking so much and I couldn’t see through the tears in my eyes. Luckily, my mom stopped me before I could do anything. When she found me, she pulled the knife out of my hand and flung it aside before gripping my shoulders and yelling at me angrily. She scolded me to no end, but at the same time, she was hugging me so intensely, telling me over and over how much I was loved…Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’d ever seen her as scared as she was in that moment…”

Manon released another heavy sigh, leaning into Alistair’s embrace before speaking again. “It was a long time before I tried cutting my ears again…I got the urge on several occasions…whenever I had a particularly rough day or the insults got to be too much, but I never found the courage to take the knife to the bedroom for quite some time…”

She swallowed thickly, taking another long pause. “I was fourteen the next time I tried. It was the day my mother was killed. The guards who’d struck her down were standing around her corpse…spitting on her and barking further insults at anyone who dared come near…I was so upset and overwhelmed, I had no idea how to react…And so I found myself running home, reaching for the knife once more. Somehow, Shianni must have known I’d go there, because she was the one to rip the knife from my grasp that time around. She stared at me long and hard, clearly angry and wanting to reprimand me, but she didn’t say a word. She just hugged me tight and we both sat on the floor crying our eyes out…”

She soon began sniffling again, her courage having wavered out. Gripping onto his arm as she curled in on herself, she mumbled, “I’m sorry…My point got away from me…I’ve talked for so long, and-”

“Shhh…” he soothed, taking her hand and squeezing it in comfort. “That doesn’t matter…I’m just glad you told me.”

Her breathing grew uneven again and she continued to fold in on herself in an attempt to keep her emotions intact. Alistair remained silent throughout, opting to run his hand gently along her arm in consolation. Eventually, though, he did break the silence.

“Have you…gotten the urge since becoming a Grey Warden?” His words were barely a whisper; soft enough that she probably could have pretended she didn’t hear them, but she answered nonetheless.

“Surprisingly…not as often as I thought I would,” she uttered at a volume that matched his own. “My exposure to humans in the Alienage was…limited, I suppose, and when I left with Duncan, I just sort of assumed I’d meet more of the same in the outside world…There have certainly been times where that’s the case…Moments where I’ve been made to feel inferior simply for being what I am, but overall, I was surprised at the interactions I had with humans. The Wardens were kind to me…a surprise as pleasant as it was shocking, but it wasn’t just that…Most of the people we’ve come across on our journey never even bothered to mention my elven nature. They acted towards me like they would any other person; treating my actions as a judgement of my character rather than my ears.” She reached up to wipe the lingering tears in her eyes, sniffling slightly.

“I never thought I’d see the day where humans treated me with kindness…but the thought that one might fall in love with me was something I hadn’t even _considered_. I’d found myself undesirable, even amongst elves…To receive affection from a race that had shown nothing but animosity towards my people?” She gave a soft, disbelieving chuckle. “Can you blame me for getting a little emotional?”

“Not at all,” he answered immediately, murmuring the words into the back of her neck before planting a kiss there.

Straining her neck, Manon turned to look at him despite the awkward angle. “And what about what I said with – with the knives?” she asked, her voice trembling somewhat. “Doesn’t it make you uneasy? I – I can’t guarantee I won’t try something like that again. Sure, I’ve gotten better since meeting you, but…I still get thoughts about it, and…” She trailed off, diverting her gaze as she found herself unable to face him.

Before she could turn completely away, Alistair’s hand quickly cupped her cheek and brought her attention back to him. “I’m more concerned than I am uncomfortable. It worries me that you feel the need to harm yourself, but that doesn’t lessen how I feel about you in any way.” He leaned down to join their lips, moving their bodies into a more comfortable position as he did so. “I’m not sure what I can do to help, but I can assure you I will do everything in my power to show you how loved you are…However many kisses it takes, however many confessions of love… I promise I will always be here for you.”

His gaze was serious, but unbelievably tender; his attention focused solely on her. She felt her heart swell with affection at his words and her lips finally broke into a smile. Nodding wordlessly, she allowed herself to melt into his embrace, knowing that even if love wasn’t the answer to her problems, it certainly helped to ebb the pain.


	23. The Depths of Depravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After encountering the Legion of the Dead, Manon learns of one more sacrifice Grey Wardens are required make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped that I’d be able to finish the Deep Roads in this chapter, but it looks like it’ll take one more chapter before we’re done with the dwarves. After that, we can move on to the events of the Landsmeet.

Oghren had initially told Manon that Branka planned to journey to Ortan Thaig in search of the Anvil, and as such, she believed that would be the end-goal for their investigation. When they finally reached the thaig, however, it became apparent that the dwarf in question was nowhere to be found. Oghren noted signs of her work and they came across a few clues that hinted at her whereabouts, but it was clear that their journey was far from over.

They continued further and further into the Deep Roads, to the point that Manon wasn’t entirely sure if they were still part of the dwarven kingdom anymore. The excursion was tireless, and at times it felt like they were wandering aimlessly, though Oghren insisted they were heading in the right direction.

After weeks of travelling through rocky tunnels and fighting more darkspawn than Manon cared to count, she came to a lurching halt, with Alistair following suit. Her senses were on fire, the hairs on the back of her neck standing at full alert and a wave of nausea swept over her. Darkspawn. She knew they were down here…they’d been fighting an endless stream of them, after all, but this…she’d never sensed _so many_ before. Her stomach rolled and lurched and it took everything in her power not to vomit where she stood.

Were they approaching a nest of some sort? The thought did nothing to quell her fears, but regardless of the Wardens’ sense of unease, they had no choice but to press on.

Carefully, they came to the end of the tunnel, blinking slightly to adjust to the new source of light. The passage opened up to a great expansive cavern, the roof stretching dozens of feet into the air. The group cautiously made their way to a small group of boulders, crouching behind their safe cover before peeking around the corner for a better look.

A massive gorge cut through the middle of the cavern, with a long, narrow bridge stretching across its center. With slight hesitation, Manon crept to the edge of the boulder and risked leaving its protective cover for the sake of a glance over the edge. When she stared down, she couldn’t prevent the gasp of horror that left her throat. The chasm was unbelievably deep, sinking deep into the earth like a deep and foreboding abyss. At the bottom, hundreds, if not thousands, of lights lit up the valley, moving in a somewhat rhythmic pattern. It took but a moment for her to realize what they all were. Torches; each held by a darkspawn. The massive source of light below was almost innumerable in its scale, and if that wasn’t intimidating enough, they couldn’t even account for the darkspawn that were scurrying in the dark, hidden from view.

She felt like a fool for believing like she had even mildly understood the devastation of the Blight when the horde had appeared at Ostagar. While there was no question that the force had been massive, it was _nothing_ compared to the endless stretch of monstrosities that rested in the depths below.

A slight rumbling followed by a deep growl were the only warnings Manon had before she ducked back behind the safety of her rock. With a loud bellow, an enormous dragon-shaped creature shot up from the dreary abyss, its shrill cry echoing harshly throughout the cavern. As it came into view, flying circles around the space, a wave of horror swept over Manon. She’d only seen it in dreams before, but its form was instantly recognizable as the Archdemon. The leader of the darkspawn horde, perpetrator of the Blight itself, was right before their eyes.

It dove down to the bridge that spanned across the gorge, landing with a thunderous roar. Its gaze swept over the valley, as though it were surveying its thralls, before it released a mighty breath of fire. It reared up on its hind legs, flapping its wings in intimidation as it urged the forces forward, never once ceasing its bout of frenzied cries. The darkspawn followed obediently, marching onward before the great beast took flight and followed them deeper into the Dead Trenches.

The group waited silently, still apprehensive, but after a while, deemed it safe to come out. Gradually, they retreated from the shelter of the boulder and began making their way to the bridge. At the far end, a massive fortress stood etched into the rocky wall, looming down in an imposing manner.

Manon prepared to cross the bridge with caution, but was caught off guard by a loud battle cry at the opposite end. Jumping slightly, she quickly pulled out her crossbow in preparation for an attack, but soon realized that the noise had not come from darkspawn. Just across the bridge, a large group of armored dwarves were raising their axes high, charging into battle with an equally numerous amount of darkspawn. Suffice it to say she was surprised to find anyone else down here at all, but her shock was quickly abandoned in favor of offering support for the dwarves.

She ushered her companions along to join the fray, and once she was within range, began firing bolts from afar. The dwarven warriors were excellent fighters; savagely slicing through the beasts with a great deal of ferocity, but even as quickly as they were dispatching the darkspawn, more and more kept pouring out from the woodwork. They were vastly outnumbered; together, their numbers were roughly half that of the enemy. It was utterly relentless. They faced what seemed like an endless stream of genlocks and hurlocks, with even a few shrieks and an ogre thrown into the mix.

By the time the last beast had finally fallen, Manon’s knees buckled beneath her and she collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. It was absurdly preposterous just how intense the enemy was down here compared to the surface. Ostagar was the only other time they’d encountered this many darkspawn before, but in that case, they’d had an entire army at their side and Alistair and Manon had been lucky enough that they’d avoided most of the creatures there.

Grunting through the pain, she slowly reached for her pack, fishing around for a health potion, and her heart dropped upon realizing just how low their supplies were getting. Wynne would need to brew some more later…hopefully she’d brought enough herbs for the task. Her healing magic could only do so much for them.

She drained the flask of its contents, sighing softly as the healing liquid began to work its magic. When she finally found the strength to stand, she slowly eased herself onto her feet and began the long process of retrieving her bolts from the fallen darkspawn.

Upon recovering her weapons, Manon turned her attention to the dwarves they’d aided just minutes before. Some were sitting on the ground, polishing their blades, while the man who seemed to be leading them was stretching his limbs, staring intently at the fortress before them. She made her way over to him with the intention of giving a proper introduction.

He soon took notice of her and gave an appreciative nod. “Atrast vala, Grey Warden…I have to say, I’m not surprised to see one of your kind down here, yet your arrival is…unprecedented.”

Manon cocked her head to the side curiously. “And why is that?”

“I personally have never seen one of your kind down here, but it’s not uncommon for the occasional Warden to enter the Deep Roads to go on their Calling…I’d say you’re too young for that though, which means you must be here on account of the Blight.”

Her attention was drawn upon the mention of this “Calling”…it was the first she’d heard of such a thing. As much as she wanted to ask about it, she figured it could wait until later. “You know about the Blight?”

“In the Legion of the Dead, we abandon our lives to be free of fear, free of hopeful blindness. The coming Blight is obvious to us,” he explained. “The surprise is not that you have come, but that you have come in so small a number…What do you want here, Warden?”

“My name is Manon and I’m searching for allies to aid us against the Blight.”

“It’s an odd tactic, recruiting from the frontline…” the dwarf grumbled. “The darkspawn pitch their camps in our tunnels between your ‘Blights’, you know. Give me a dwarven reason to look topside.”

“I need to find Paragon Branka.”

“Who put this dull idea in your head? We have other things to worry about in Orzammar…” He paused for a moment, his brows furrowing in contemplation before something occurred to him. “Ah…now I see. The deep lords in the Assembly can’t make up their minds, so the pretenders need added influence. I get that right?”

“Pretty much. I don’t suppose you could give me any advice on the matter?”

“Warden, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Paragon Branka is dead, everyone with sense knows it. Past our line, the darkspawn kill everything.”

“What about the Anvil of the Void? Have you ever heard of it?”

“Like dusters have heard of respect,” he muttered with mild disdain. “Never seen it, and if it exists, it wasn’t meant for me.”

Manon let out a sigh, realizing they weren’t going to be much help in their quest. “All right…I suppose we’ll take our leave.”

“Let us know if you find any Paragons,” he called out sarcastically before adding, “And Warden, watch yourself…Drunks make poor allies.” His judgmental gaze shifted to Oghren, who merely grumbled and spat on the ground in response.

\------

After what seemed like an eternity, the group finally managed to clear out a section of the fortress. Alistair and Manon could no longer sense the darkspawn and it seemed, for the moment, they were safe. They resolved to set up camp in one of the common areas, with Shale keeping watch as usual. Ever since they had joined their band of companions, the golem’s lack of need for sleep had proven especially useful. They no longer needed to worry about shift rotations, and instead deferred to Shale to keep watch.

The room they set up in was fairly small, but allowed enough privacy for everyone to find their own little corner of solace. Manon and Alistair laid down their bedrolls and after dressing down to their underclothes, began to settle in for the evening. There was no telling if they would get a full night’s rest, or only an hour, so they wasted as little time as possible.

Even so, there was still a nagging question at the back of Manon’s mind, and though they needed all the sleep they could get, she wasn’t sure if they’d have a chance like this any time soon. “Alistair?” she whispered softly.

He had just begun to crawl under his blanket, but looked up attentively.

“Could I, um…ask you something?” She did her best to keep her voice low, not knowing how much the others could hear.

A wide grin stretched across his face and he settled into a more comfortable sitting position as he addressed her. “Sure thing,” he replied in an equally hushed tone. “Ask away.”

She eased herself into her bed roll, resting her head against the wall behind her as she fiddled her hands in her lap. “In retrospect, I probably should have asked more about the Grey Wardens before, but…we’ve been so caught up with everything, and…” A small sigh escaped her as she shook her head. “The…Calling…that the Legionnaire mentioned…It’s something bad, isn’t it?”

His face instantly turned pale and he flicked his gaze to the side guiltily. “Ah…I had assumed Duncan told you, but…No, I guess there wouldn’t have been time, would there?” A stressed groan fell from his lips and he ran his hand across his face in mild frustration.

He was silent for a long while, his face contorted in distress as he weighed how to tell her this. Eventually, he was able to break the silence. “You remember the Joining, right? We drink darkspawn blood, master their taint and suddenly we can sense them?”

She nodded slowly, uncertain where he was going with this.

“And then of course there’s the nightmares…Can’t forget about that lovely side effect, now can we?”

His words did nothing to quell her growing anxiety. The fact that he kept avoiding the issue only increased her worry and she clenched her hands together in an attempt to calm herself. “Alistair…” she cut in, her voice breaking slightly. He quickly looked up at her and she did her best to even her voice. “Please…just tell me.”

He met her stare with pained eyes before letting out a deep sigh. “Well…” he began with what was clearly forced optimism. “In addition to all the wonderful things about being a Grey Warden, you don’t need to worry about dying from old age.”

Her heart, which had been beating so rapidly just moments before, suddenly came to a stop. “W-What?”

“The taint…it’s a death sentence,” he explained slowly, turning his gaze downward. Regret filled his throat and wafted into the air as he spoke. “Ultimately, your body won’t be able to take it…When the time comes, most Grey Wardens come to the Deep Roads and die in battle rather than…waiting. Lovely little tradition, wouldn’t you say?” His voice was dry and bitter, all its usual humor gone in favor of pained cynicism.

“So…I…I’m going to die?” she asked in a small voice, no longer able to mask her fear.

“We’re _all_ going to die…” Alistair muttered quietly. He shook his head in frustration, before finally forcing himself to look her in the eye. “When Duncan told me, I was _angry_ …He put his hand on my shoulder and said this: ‘It’s not how you die that’s important. It’s how you live.’”

No…This…this couldn’t be real. This was not…this wasn’t what she wanted. Before she could stop herself, the tears began pooling in her eyes, soon threatening to spill over. “But, I…” she said in a desperate breath. “I wanted to…live a – a life worth living. I wanted to spend it with you…” Her words came out in hiccups and Alistair’s face soon reflected the pain she herself wore.

“We still can,” he uttered softly as he gathered her into his arms. “Maker…I never expected to find something like this…someone like you, but…I know that I want to spend whatever is left of my life with you. I’ll do everything I can to make it one you deserve.”

The tears in her eyes began streaming down her face despite herself and she ducked her head against his shoulder. Guilt swelled up in her throat and she made every attempt to avoid meeting his gaze. As devastating as this news was, she should be happy that he was making such a promise to her. To be able to spend their lives together, no matter how short, should be something that made her fill with joy. But all she could think of was what it would be like to grow old with him…to spend each passing year making new memories and holding one another’s wrinkled hands in tender affection. She hadn’t even realized she’d already been envisioning a future with him, but she hadn’t even had time to enjoy the prospect before it was being ripped away. What right did she have to be _this_ upset over something she hadn’t even thought possible? Not much had changed, right?

A strangled sob escaped her and she clutched his shirt tighter in an attempt to muffle the sound. She was a fool for thinking she’d get the happy ending she was hoping for. After all, what had she _ever_ done to deserve such happiness? Even if they could spend a few years together, circumstance would eventually tear them apart. Wynne was right…love was making her selfish, after all…

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her ear, pressing his lips against her forehead in what he hoped was a gesture of comfort.

Why was he apologizing? It wasn’t his fault…He wasn’t the one who recruited her…He wasn’t the one who made the Order seem like a liberating escape when in fact it was nothing but a death sentence…

She swallowed thickly, attempting to rid herself of the lump in her throat and failed miserably. She knew he was only apologizing for the situation they’d been thrust into, but it didn’t do much to ease the pain. No matter what he said or did, they were still going to throw their lives away for the sake of an Order she’d never wanted to be a part of.


	24. Such is the Way of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manon and her party finally locate Branka and the Anvil of the Void, but things don’t go quite the way they’d planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roughly a year ago, I posted the first chapter of the Littlest Warden (and my first fanfiction ever) for the very first time. I had no idea what to expect; I saw it mostly as a self-indulgent project of character exploration for Manon. I never expected it to gain a following, and I certainly didn't expect to start writing anything else. I've learned so much in this past year and I am so thankful to everyone who has been here with me and enjoyed my work. I love you all so much.
> 
> I know this is somewhat of a lackluster chapter for the occasion, but the good news is that we're finally done with Orzammar! We're moving into the final act of the story, and from here on out, each chapter has something that I'm invested in writing (and should be more fun to read as a result). Once again, thank you to all my readers! <3

After even more time spent fighting their way through darkspawn (not to mention the grotesque tentacle beast that was the Broodmother ), the party finally made some headway on their quest. At the end of a particularly dark and cramped tunnel, they found their way into a large clearing, with none other than Branka there to greet them.

Though Oghren was beside himself with excitement at seeing his wife again, it quickly became apparent that Branka cared little for his presence. She dismissed him without a second thought before delving into why she’d come here in the first place. She began raving about the Anvil of the Void – how important it was that she recover it for Orzammar, how much she had given up to come this far. Manon immediately grimaced at this, remembering their encounter with Hespith and her tale of how the Broodmothers came to be in the first place.

“I’ve given up everything and would sacrifice _anything_ to get the Anvil of the Void.”

“Does that include Hespith and the other members of your house?” Manon asked in confronation.

“Enough questions! If you wish me to get involved in this imbecilic election, I must first have the Anvil.” The dwarven woman narrowed her eyes, lowering her voice in warning. “There is only one way out, Warden. Forward. Through Caridin’s maze and out to where the Anvil waits.”

Her tone was calm and clinical, and seemed a drastic comparison to the desperation in Oghren’s voice as he yelled at her. “What has this place done to you?! I remember marrying a girl you could talk to one minute and see her brilliance.”

“I am your Paragon,” she stated simply before walking away into the darkness.

Oghren continued to grumble to himself, scratching his head in frustration as they continued forward. They faced against a numerous amount of darkspawn, as well as a great deal of Caridin’s deadly traps, but given everything her party had faced thus far, the tasks were nothing if not surmountable.

The group made their way into a spacious cavern, where numerous golems lined the pathway. Manon eyed them warily, but they appeared to remain dormant…for the moment, at least. One of the creatures, however, was quite unlike the others. Whereas the other golems were forged from stone and masonry, this one was constructed with steel. It stood alert at the end of the path, and when it spoke, its voice carried a metallic sort of echo.

“My name is Caridin. Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar.”

“Caridin?” Shale asked, a hint of shock in their voice. “The Paragon smith? Alive?”

Though his face held no emotion, there was an indication of recollection in Caridin as he turned his attention to Shale. “Ah, there is a voice I recognize…Shayle of the House of Cadash, step forward.”

“You…know my name?” the golem asked, taking a tentative step closer. “Is it you that forged me, then? Is it you that gave me my name?”

“Have you forgotten, then?” Caridin released a long, heavy sigh. “It has been so long…” He shook his head briefly; his metal body creaking in the process. “I made you into the golem you are now, Shayle, but before that, you were a dwarf…just as I was. The finest to serve King Valtor and the only woman to volunteer.”

Shale bristled as much was physically possible in their stone body. “The only…a _woman_? A _dwarf_?”

“I laid you on the Anvil of the Void, here in this very room, and put you into the form you now possess,” Caridin explained calmly.

“The Anvil of the Void…” Shale repeated as they slowly regained their composure. “That is what we seek.”

“If you seek the Anvil, then you must hear about my story, or be doomed to relive it.”

Manon was still having trouble processing the fact that dwarves could be made into golems, but did her best to focus on replying. “You made the Anvil, I take it?”

Caridin responded with a creaky nod. “Though I made many things in my time, I rose to fame and earned my status based on a single item: The Anvil of the Void. It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible…but I told no one the cost.”

Right. There was always a cost.

“No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere.”

“Sounds an awful lot like blood magic…” Alistair muttered under his breath, and Manon was inclined to agree.

“The Darkspawn were pressing in,” Caridin continued. “Originally, I only took volunteers; the bravest of souls willing to trade their very lives for the chance to defend their homeland…But King Valtor became greedy. He began to force men…casteless and criminals…his political enemies…all of them were to be given to the Anvil. It took feeling the hammer’s blow myself to realize the height of my crimes.”

Pressing her lips together in contemplation, Manon asked, “So what happens now?”

“I have remained entombed here ever since, and I have sought a way to destroy the Anvil. Alas, I cannot do it myself. No golem can touch it.”

“No!” Branka screeched as she ran into the chamber. “The Anvil is mine! No one will take it from me!”

Caridin urgently turned to Manon, a sense of desperation in his voice. “Please…help me destroy the Anvil! Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has.”

She was about to open her mouth to agree when Branka’s voice called from across the clearing. “Don’t listen! He’s been trapped here for a thousand years, stewing in his own madness. Help me claim the Anvil and you will have an army like you’ve never seen!”

Funny…considering that between the two Paragons, Branka seemed the less stable of the pair.

“Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail!” Oghren growled, the aggravation in his voice rising ever higher. “Does this thing mean so much to you that you can’t even see what you’ve lost to get it?”

“Look around. Is this what our empire should look like? A crumbling tunnel filled with darkspawn spume?” Branka asked sardonically. “The Anvil will let us take back our glory!”

Her mouth setting into a grim line, Manon returned her attention to Caridin. No army, no matter how powerful, was worth sacrificing the lives of the living. Besides…she’d come down here seeking a Paragon’s support, and now she had found one. The Anvil had no purpose to remain.

“The Anvil enslaves living souls. It must be destroyed,” she stated resolutely.

“So it fights with Caridin?” Shale asked, a hint of approval in their voice. “Good. That seems right.”

“Thank you, stranger. Your compassion shames me…” Caridin said with a grateful nod.

“Bah!” Branka let out a bark of displeasure, her face curling into a grimace. “You are not the only master smith here, Caridin! Golems, obey me!” Pulling a rod from behind her back, she promptly thrust it into the air, a large wave of energy cascading across the chamber.

Before Manon could think to react, the golems surrounding them that had previously been inactive began to wake. They stretched their rocky joints, slowly regaining the movement in their oversized bodies and she soon began to panic.

“A control rod! But…” A strained groan fell from Caridin and she turned swiftly to face the golem. He stood stock still, though the minor twitches of his body showed he was fighting desperately over whatever Branka had done to him. “My friend…you must help me! I cannot stop her alone!”

Easier said than done…

Taking a nervous gulp, Manon pulled out her crossbow, though she was tempted to laugh at the preposterousness of the action. If her bolts barely did any damage to a flesh and blood ogre, how was she to have any hope of taking down these stone-bodied warriors?

She was thankful for Shale’s presence, as their strength seemed to be the only rival to the creatures’ strength, but the numbers were not in their favor. It took a great deal of magical traps from Wynne and a tag-team effort between the three warriors before the massive beasts finally fell. Branka, too, ended up a casualty as a result, though Manon wasn’t terribly torn up about it. Though she felt guilty about having to end the life of Oghren’s wife, she knew the woman was too far gone to save, and she suspected Oghren knew it as well.

By the time they’d felled all their enemies, the hold on Caridin had been broken, and though he stumbled a bit on his feet, regarded Manon and her companions with a regretful tone. “Another life lost because of my invention…I wish no mention of it had made it into history,” he lamented.

“Yeah, you ain’t kiddin’…” Oghren mumbled. “Stupid woman. Always knew the Anvil would kill her…”

Giving another deep sigh, the Paragon seemed to have regained most of his composure. “But at least it ends here. I thank you for standing with me, stranger. Is there any boon I can grant you for your aid? A final favor before I am freed from my burden?”

“I need a Paragon’s support to settle an election.”

“For the aid you have given me, I shall put hammer to steel one last time, and give you a crown for the king of your choice.”

She and her companions waited in the clearing while the smith gathered his materials and began the process of forging the crown. She could hear the loud clanging of the hammer hitting the metal; almost rhythmic in its pattern. Finally, after what must have been hours, he called them up to the outcropping on which the Anvil rested. Raising the golden crown high, he presented his work to Manon before passing it into her hands.

“There. It is done. Give it to whom you will.”

“Thank you,” she said with a nod. “Now, I’ll fulfill my half of the bargain.”

Passing the crown to Oghren, she slowly made her way up to the massive instrument. She circled it for a bit, her brow furrowed as she looked it over. The thing was huge, and likely incredibly durable. How exactly were they supposed to go about destroying it?

Looking over the edge of the chasm, she took note of the lava flowing below and was struck with an idea. Even if the lava didn’t destroy the Anvil proper, there was no way anyone would be able to use it down there. She approached the Anvil, leaning her weight against its surface in an attempt to push it closer to the edge, but the thing barely budged. Glancing back at her groupmates, she asked, “Little help?”

She was slowly joined by Alistair, Wynne, and Oghren, each of them leaning into the tool with as much strength as they could muster. Eventually, the great thing began to move, sliding noisily against the stone floor. When it finally seemed close enough to the edge, Manon took a step back before giving it a solid kick to send it the rest of the way.

Caridin spent but a moment surveying her work before he joined her near the cliff’s drop-off. Staring down over the edge, he spoke with a measure of gratitude. “You have my eternal thanks, stranger. Atrast nal tunaha…may you always find your way in the dark.”

He spread his arms wide, leaning gradually forward before he took the plunge, joining the Anvil in his own molten grave.

Manon gave a weary sigh, looking back at her companions with an expression of uncertainty. They’d gotten a Paragon’s support, just like they wanted, but Maker…this whole thing was a mess. Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she slowly prepared for the weeks-long trip back to Orzammar.

\------

As her group made their way through the Chamber of the Assembly, Manon paid no heed to the nobles they passed; proceeding forward with a stern glare on her face. Blood and grime caked her body and she longed for nothing more than a bath, but the sooner they got this over with, the better. She was done with dwarves. She was done with the Deep Roads. One way or another, she was getting the troops she required.

“Lords of the Assembly, I call for order! This argument gets us nowhere!” One noble called for peace, attempting to act as an intermediary between the two divided factions.

“Then why these delaying tactics?” called Bhelen. “I call for a vote right now. My father has one living child to assume the Aeducan throne. Who would deny him that?”

“Your father made me swear on his deathbed you would not succeed him,” Harrowmont retorted.

The dwarf who’d been leading Manon and her party into the Chamber stepped forward, giving a small cough to announce his presence. “I apologize for the interruption, Lord Steward, but the Grey Warden has returned.”

Bhelen’s face lit up and various nobles let out cries of joy, but Manon couldn’t care less. She gripped Caridin’s crown tightly in her hand, her hard gaze focused on the prince as she advanced to the center of the room.

“Well, Warden? What news do you bring?” Bhelen asked, his arms extended in a welcoming gesture.

“I bear a crown from Paragon Caridin, forged on the Anvil of the Void,” she responded with minimal enthusiasm.

“Caridin was trapped in the body of a golem,” Oghren explained, gesturing wildly as he spoke. “This Warden granted him the mercy he sought, releasing him and destroying the Anvil of the Void. Before he died, Caridin forged a crown for Orzammar’s next king, chosen by the Ancestors themselves!”

“I would like to believe Oghren’s word,” Harrowmont said with a raised brow, “but it’s well known the Grey Warden is Bhelen’s hireling.”

“Silence!” the Steward yelled, his voice cutting through the bickering voices of the Assembly. Slowly, he made his way down the steps and approached Manon. She held out the crown and he took it carefully, turning it back and forth as he inspected it. “This crown _is_ of Paragon make and bears House Ortan’s ancient seal…Tell us, Warden: whom did Caridin choose?”

“He wished me to give it to whomever I choose,” she proclaimed.

“ _Why_  would a Paragon trust someone who knows nothing of us with such a decision? This is preposterous!” Harrowmont was quick to make his disapproval known, but was soon cut off by the Steward once more.

“We’ve argued in these chambers for too long. The will of the Paragon is that the Grey Warden decide.”

Standing before the two candidates, it didn’t take long before Manon had reached a conclusion. No point going back on her word now. “I grant the crown to Bhelen.”

Her decision was met with several shocked gasps, but Bhelen’s joyous enthusiasm overpowered them. “At last. This farce is ended and I can take my rightful place on my father’s throne.”

The dwarves wasted no time with preparation. They immediately leapt into ceremony, beginning the coronation. The deshyrs moved to stand in a ring around the inner chamber, each holding a staff that they pounded into the ground rhythmically while Bhelen descended the steps. He approached the Steward, who held the crown before the prince. He took a knee before him, ducking his head humbly as the crown was placed upon him.

“Let the Memories find you worthy, first amid the lords of the houses, the King of Orzammar.”

He returned to standing, and was met with a great deal of cheers and applause as he regarded the Assembly. Turning to Harrowmont, Bhelen narrowed his eyes in a level glare. “Do you acknowledge me as king?”

Harrowmont appeared visibly perturbed, his voice hesitant as he spoke, but he took a knee nonetheless. “I…Cannot defy a  Paragon. The throne is yours…King Bhelen.”

Bhelen paid him little to no mind, his face hardening into a scowl as he exclaimed, “Then as my first act as king, I call for this man’s execution! Guards, seize him!”

 _What?_ He would kill the man even after he’d sworn fealty to him? Her face scrunching up with distaste, Manon stepped forward to confront the new king. “I did not give you that crown only for you to become a tyrant!” She glowered at the man, her hands bunching up into fists as the guards dragged Harrowmont away.

“You know better than anyone the war facing us, Warden,” he responded, his demeanor somewhat calmer. “Orzammar cannot afford to be divided. Anyone undermining my reign is serving only the darkspawn…I will return to my palace to gather my generals and prepare our forces for the surface.”

Slowly, the anger dwindled out of Manon and she felt herself deflating. Right…They were facing the Blight. It was the whole reason she’d come and gotten involved in the political mess of Orzammar in the first place. So long as Bhelen provided the troops she required, did it really matter what happened next? Part of the blame for this could fall to her, after all. If she’d done more research on the candidates, she might have supported Harrowmont instead.  Bhelen’s progressive mindset had appealed to her in the beginning, and though his actions towards his opponent left her with a bad taste in her mouth, there was still a chance he could do good for this kingdom.

Giving a heavy sigh, she made to return to the palace with the new king. Once they’d agreed to the terms of the alliance, she could put this whole mess behind her and return to Arl Eamon with the good news. She’d put the treaties to use…now all that remained was to see to the traitor that started this conflict in the first place.


	25. Into the Viper's Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group arrives in Denerim to prepare for the Landsmeet. After an unexpected encounter with Loghain and Howe, things go downhill rather quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being super long...I may have gotten a bit carried away, haha...
> 
> (Oh, and mild violence warning.)

Returning to Ferelden’s capital was somewhat bittersweet. On the one hand, it was Manon’s home, and seeing the city’s many sights was always an exciting prospect. On the other, their reasons for traveling to Denerim were anything but trivial, and she was rendered incredibly anxious as to what would become of their time here.

Upon arriving at Arl Eamon’s estate, she’d let out a deep sigh, believing they finally had a moment to breathe. The Arl’s servants were busy carrying up her party’s belongings to their rooms while she spent a few moments gazing in interest at the entry chamber in which they stood. She’d known nobility lived in the lap of luxury, but for the Arl to own both a castle _and_ an estate here in Denerim? It seemed almost…excessive.

The relative peace of their arrival didn’t last for long; it was soon shattered when a small group of individuals began making their way through the front door. When Manon turned to face them, her heart jumped into her throat and she froze where she stood.

Loghain, the very man they’d called the Landsmeet against, traitor to the king and Grey Wardens, was marching down the corridor, flanked by two others.

His expression was schooled, not betraying any emotion, but given the purpose with which he placed his steps, she knew he was livid. Shrinking behind the Arl, Manon did her best not to cower in the presence of her enemy, with little success.

“Loghain,” Eamon began cautiously, attempting to hide his shock at the man’s appearance. “This is…an honor, that the regent would find time to greet me personally.”

“How could I not welcome a man so important as to call every lord in Ferelden away from his estates while a Blight claws at our land?” His tone was barely forced civility, though his thick sarcasm managed to cut through.

From her spot behind the Arl, Manon’s face scrunched up in disapproval. Of course _now_ he was worried about the Blight…after all the Wardens in Ferelden had been disposed of.

Crossing his arms, Eamon responded sternly, “The Blight is why I’m here. With Cailan dead, Ferelden _must_ have a king to lead it against the darkspawn.”

Loghain waited no more than half a breath before cutting in with his own argument, his voice loud and displeased. “Ferelden _has_ a strong leader; its queen. And I lead her armies.”

 _Of course you do, you power-hungry prick_ , Manon thought to herself. Thankfully, when she opened her mouth, something a little less provocative came out. “Considering Ostagar, perhaps we need a better general.”

The man quickly turned his disapproving gaze on her and she forced herself not to flinch under his scrutiny. Had she not spoken up, she doubted he would have even noticed her. “And who is this, Eamon? Some new stray you picked up on the road?” His eyes lingered on her but a moment more before returning his attention to Eamon. “And here I thought it was only royal bastards you played the nursemaid to, not elven derelicts.”

She bristled at his comment, her hands twitching at her sides. _Well_. He certainly knew how to speak his mind.

“Well, you’re admitting the ‘royal’ part. That’s a start,” Alistair muttered under his breath.

Inhaling deeply, Manon did her best to suppress her building emotions for the sake of her allies. If they were going to make a good impression at the Landsmeet, she needed to be cool and level-headed, no matter how much she wanted to take her revenge. “I am a witness to your crimes at Ostagar. You would do well to remember that.”

The regent’s face soon filled with abject rage and when he stepped closer in confrontation, Manon almost feared he would strike her down, even with so many witnesses about. “You should curb you tongue,” he seethed, barely keeping his anger under control. “This is _my_ city, and no safe place to speak treason. For anyone.”

He glared her down for a while longer, and it was all she could do not to show the terror that was threatening to burst from her chest. When he finally turned his gaze away and resumed speaking, she could barely suppress the sigh of relief that escaped her. “There is talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon. Some worry that you may no longer be able to advise Ferelden.”

“Illness?” Eamon asked skeptically, his eyes narrowing in confrontation. “Why not call your poison by its true name? Not everyone at the Landsmeet will cast aside their loyalties as easily as you and these…sycophants.”

“How long you’ve been gone from court, Eamon! Don’t you recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine and Teyrn of Highever?” He stepped aside to reveal the sleazy-looking noble who’d accompanied him to the estate.

The man in question immediately acquired a smug grin upon his face, his voice dripping with arrogance as he spoke. “And current Arl of Denerim, after Urien’s unfortunate fate at Ostagar. The regent been…generous to those who prove loyal.”

Though the ridiculous number of title accompanying the man gave Manon suspicion, she found herself caring very little for that when she realized just who was standing before her. Rendon Howe. The infamous new Arl, who’d taken the liberty of leading a purge through the Alienage even after her efforts to keep her people safe. The sheer amount of pretension that his voice carried only infuriated her more.

“So you’re the one who butchered my kin?” she fumed, barely keeping her rage in check.

She’d thought he couldn’t get any more smug, but was quickly proven wrong when his filthy smirk widened, his slimy voice dripping in self-satisfaction. “When the animals turn against their masters, it is sometimes necessary to _cull_ the herd.”

Her hands had already balled up into fists, clenching so tightly her knuckles turned white. Tightening her grip further, her nails began to bite into her skin, very nearly drawing blood, but she couldn’t care less. A scorching fury ignited itself inside her and it was all she could do not to strangle the man on the spot. She hadn’t thought she’d ever find a person she could despise more than Vaughan, and yet here was one standing not five feet in front of her.

Inhaling deeply, she pulled on a chipper mask and spoke in what must have been the most forced tone of humor in history. “Why, Alistair, would you look at that? It appears the regent owns a talking ass!”

Ordinarily, she never would have been one for such rude exclamations, especially directed towards such influential members of Ferelden’s court, but her patience had run thin. Alistair was clearly surprised by her outburst, though he was fighting desperately against the smile that tugged at his lips. Despite their circumstances, he was at least a little amused by the remark, as well as her boldness.

“Don’t interrupt, churl,” said the woman next to Loghain with her own air of superiority. “Your betters are talking.”

Unbelievable. Though Manon was not the violent type, she had never before met a group of people whom she wanted to murder so badly.

“Enough, Cauthrian, this is not the time or place,” Loghain said dismissively before turning back to Eamon. “I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened: Our king is dead. Our land is under siege. We must be united now if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored. Would you see her work destroyed?” His calm façade quickly dissolved with that last sentence and his voice rose to a frustrated shout as he confronted him. “You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the Blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne.”

Manon practically rolled her eyes. Right. _Now_ he was worried about the Blight, now that the threat was undeniable.

“You’re the one who divided Ferelden,” she pointed out with irritation.

He glared at her once more, responding curtly. “I was not talking to you.”

“I cannot forgive what you’ve done, Loghain,” Eamon said, staring down the man with a disapproving gaze. “Perhaps the Maker can, but not I. Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight.”

“Oh, is that all I have to do?” Alistair asked with his typical brand of sarcasm. “No pressure…”

“The Emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down,” Loghain threatened, taking a menacing step towards the Arl before they were practically nose to nose. “Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing I would not do for my homeland.”

He stared them down but a moment more before he promptly turned on his heel and left, the others following suit. The moment they were out the door, Manon let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Well, that was…bracing,” Eamon muttered, letting out his own nervous sigh. “I didn’t expect Loghain to show himself quite so soon.”

He could say that again. To say that Manon had been taken off guard when the regent and his entourage appeared would be an understatement, and now that she had a chance to reflect on her actions, couldn’t help but worry. Her anger towards Loghain and Howe hadn’t dwindled in the slightest, yet she feared her actions might hurt their cause when it came time for the Landsmeet.

“What do we do now?” she asked quietly.

“Calling the Landsmeet is only the start. Now we must ensure that every noble there sees Loghain’s duplicity. We have no small task ahead of us.”

They briefly went over what would need to be done during the course of their stay in Denerim. The sources of all of Loghain’s schemes were likely to be spread out across the city, so Manon was to spread out and search for evidence that could be used against him. In the meantime, seeking support of the nobles who had gathered would also be beneficial to their cause. Once they’d reviewed as much, Eamon excused himself back to his quarters, asking that Manon and Alistair join him later to work out a more definite strategy.

After the Arl and Manon’s companions began to disperse, she released another soft sigh. Alistair cautiously approached her, trying to get her attention without startling her too badly.

“You okay?”

She huffed out a laugh before turning to face him with a wry smile. “I honestly don’t know anymore.”

He returned her hesitant smile, pausing as he thought about what to say. “I’m just, uh…surprised, I guess?” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I know from experience you can get mad when you put your mind to it, but I’ve _certainly_ never seen you so livid before.”

Shaking her head, she let out a small groan of annoyance. “Yes, well…I’d say I have more than enough reason to hate those two.”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand. I wasn’t saying I disapprove…just that I wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction from you, is all.” He quickly turned apologetic, bashfully rubbing at the back of his neck as he attempted to explain himself.

Her expression softened somewhat and she offered him a more genuine smile. “Hm…What can I say? I’m just full of surprises.”

The tension on his face eased quickly enough and the two locked gazes for a long, seemingly endless, moment. They were both at a loss for words; able to easily read the nervousness and worry each was feeling in regards to the Landsmeet. Rather than try to talk about the implications of the political gathering, the pair instead steeled themselves as they made their way to the Arl’s chambers.

Upon arriving in Eamon’s room, Manon found herself somewhat taken aback to find an elven woman standing beside the man. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have been terribly surprised, given the number of elves employed as servants throughout the estate, but this woman was particularly finely dressed. She immediately became curious as to who she was and what she was doing here.

The Arl greeted them eagerly, but before Manon could even think to ask who the elf was, the woman chose to speak for herself. “I am Erlina, Queen Anora’s handmaiden. She sent me here to ask for your help.”

Manon found it curious that she spoke with an Orlesian accent, but chose not to focus on that bit of information for the moment. “Why would the Queen need our help?”

“She…is in a difficult position,” Erlina began with some hesitation. “She loved her husband, no? And trusted her father to protect him. When he returns with no King and only dark rumors, what is she to think? She worries, no? But when she tries to speak with him, he does not answer. He tells her ‘not to trouble herself.’”

“Are you saying she believes Loghain killed Cailan?” A bit of excitement welled up in Manon at the prospect. If even the Queen could see past Loghain’s veneer, then perhaps there was hope for them yet.

“My queen suspects she cannot trust her father. And Loghain, he is very subtle, no? But Rendon Howe, he is privy to all the secrets and…not so subtle. So she goes to Howe.” The woman continued to explain how the Queen’s visit to the new Arl didn’t exactly go according to plan, and how it resulted in the man locking her in a guest room. “I think…her life is in danger. I heard Howe say she would be a greater ally dead than alive. Especially if her death could be blamed on Arl Eamon.”

“Would Loghain really kill his own daughter just to frame Eamon?” Manon asked incredulously. She knew the man was power-hungry, but for him to do such a thing to his own child seemed insane.

“We may have no choice but to trust Anora,” explained Eamon. “The Queen is well-loved. If Loghain succeeded in pinning her death on me…I’m not sure that’s a risk we can afford to take.”

“So what do you propose we do?”

“I have some uniforms,” Erlina offered. “Arl Howe hires so many new guards every day. A few more will not cause much stir…I will show you to the servant’s entrance. We must slip in and out with my Queen before anyone is the wiser.”

Manon nodded slowly, her mind too preoccupied to come up with a proper reply. Rescuing the Queen was a priority; she was aware of this much, but the whole plan of entering the Arl’s estate gave her reason to pause. For one thing, her last visit to the estate had been…less than ideal, and there was the very real possibility that their little visit would dredge up more bad memories for her. For another, the estate’s new resident seemed even more malicious than Vaughan. If they were caught, there was no telling what the man would do to them. She did her best not to dwell on these thoughts as they prepared for their mission, but they still nagged at her from the back of her mind.

\------

Surprisingly, they managed to get into the estate without drawing too much attention to themselves. The guards that walked the halls paid them no more than a second glance, though Manon was sure they were going to be discovered at any second. Though their helmets covered most of their more distinguishable features, namely Manon’s ears, there was still the fear that they would appear out of place. Manon, for one, was much shorter than the typical guard, and yet no one seemed bothered to care.

They reached the guest room where Anora was being kept, and though the Queen greeted them with a tone of relief, it appeared something was amiss. Despite the heavy guard patrolling the estate, Howe decided to take the extra precaution and have a mage erect a magical barrier around the door. Anora instructed them that the mage in question was likely by Howe’s side, which sent a wave of nervousness through Manon. They’d come here with the intent of stealth, but it seemed as if they had little choice in the matter now. Though she was hesitant to venture further into the estate, she resigned herself to continue towards Howe’s quarters.

Manon and her companions cautiously made their way through the door, but upon rounding the corner, they were immediately spotted by a guard.

“What? Who goes there?” He made as if to confront them, but he’d barely taken a step before an arm reached out from the door behind him, snaking its way around his neck. The prisoner tightened their grip, crushing the man’s neck between his bicep and the metal bars of the cage. A chorus of agonized moans fell from the guard’s throat, and Manon could only look on in horror before his neck finally snapped.

The next few moments were filled with near-silence, aside from the sounds of the door unlocking and the prisoner slowly dragging the man’s body inside the cell. Shuffling noises could be heard from within as she and Alistair shared an uncertain look with one another. Whoever had been trapped in there was not to be messed with…Manon could only hope they weren’t an enemy.

Eventually, the shuffling ceased, and a tall, dark-haired man stepped out of the cell, clad in the armor of the guard. “I thank you for creating such distraction, stranger. I have been waiting days for the opportunity.”

Witnessing his calm demeanor and easygoing voice, Manon allowed herself to relax. It certainly didn’t _seem_ like he was going to pounce on them at any given moment.

“Do you think you could-?” he continued, but cut himself off, his brows furrowing in concentration. “Alistair? Is that you?”

“Who…?” Alistair asked, confused, but soon enough, recognition began to dawn on him. “Wait. I do know you. You were at my Joining. He’s one of us,” he told Manon. “A Warden from Orlais. Jader, I think…Or was it Monstimmard?” He scratched his brow as he attempted to recall the information, but when that proved ineffective, he instead gave a nervous smile. “I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.”

“I’m Riordan,” the man said with a small bow. “Senior Warden of Jader, but born and bred in Highever and glad to be home.”

“What are you doing here?” Manon asked with mild shock. She could have sworn Loghain had outlawed all the Wardens, particularly those from Orlais.

“For the most part, attempting to hold my tongue,” he answered with good humor. “I was sent when we received no word from Cailan as to the outcome at Ostagar. The King had invited all the Wardens of Orlais and their support troops to join him, then…nothing.”

“How large of a force did you bring with you?” She tried not to get her hopes up, especially since Riordan’s capture didn’t exactly bode well, but the idea of more Wardens providing aid had her feeling excited.

“We had two hundred Wardens and two dozen divisions of cavalry. The first we heard of Loghain’s edict was when everyone was turned back at the border. That was when the rumor reached us that Wardens were being blamed for the massacre. We finally decided it was safest to send someone alone, to learn how to best fight this Blight and this regime simultaneously. As a native Ferelden, I volunteered to make the crossing.”

Manon gave a slow nod of understanding. She should have expected as much…but still, one Warden ally was better than nothing. “How did you get captured in the first place?”

“With an offer of hospitality and a poisoned chalice,” Riordan said with a grimace. “I was fool enough to think Loghain didn’t yet know who I was.”

“And…where is Howe now? Do you know?”

“I saw him go into the dungeons,” he replied, gesturing in the appropriate direction. “He may still be down there.”

“Would you be able to come with us? We could use the extra help.”

“I wouldn’t be much use to you in my current condition,” he answered with a wry smile. “And if you’ll pardon me, I’ve a sudden desire to breathe some free air. I will seek you out later – after I find a good physician.” He gave her a warm smile before adding softly, “And good luck…Sister.”

She watched him depart, feeling a small twinge of guilt for asking him to accompany them, before guiding her companions down to the dungeon.

They encountered many of Howe’s men, as was to be expected, but dispatched them quickly enough. What was perhaps of greater concern was the sheer number of prisoners Howe was keeping in his dungeons. Among them were a poor old man who’d clearly lost his mind, a Templar who’d been in pursuit of the blood mage that poisoned the Arl, and a noble’s son, who’d been tortured for Maker knows what reason. She had a feeling the nobles who’d gathered for the Landsmeet would not take kindly to Howe keeping such people captive, and given his ties to Loghain, this knowledge could probably be used to their advantage.

Her group advanced further, opening door after door, until they finally came face to face with the man himself.

“Well, well…”

There it was again. That slimy, abhorrent voice. A grimace quickly made its way onto Manon’s face.

“The Grey Warden…” Howe observed, his arms crossed in a condescending manner. “I must say I’m surprised Eamon would condone you invading my castle and murdering my men. Is he losing faith in the persuasive powers of his Landsmeet?”

“ _Stop. Talking_.” Manon’s words left her in short snarls, utterly seething with rage. She was done with this repulsive excuse for a human being and he more than deserved to die for his crimes. She needed to make him pay.

His eyes narrowed in distaste and he all but scoffed at her. “You should have left when you had the chance, Warden. Slunk off to the Anderfels to hide with the rest of your kind. This Landsmeet is a _farce_. Loghain will triumph and you will _die_.” The sheer amount of enunciation he put into his words conveyed his contempt, but her hatred far surpassed his own.

Her crossbow was already prepared from their earlier fight, and she wasted no time firing a bolt at the man. However, unlike Vaughan, Howe was much more practiced in combat, and rolled out of the bolt’s path before pulling out his daggers with practiced ease. Howe’s men swarmed her group, but Morrigan was quick to push them back, firing a swift combination of fire and ice spells to keep them at bay. Alistair took the chance to run for Howe, but the man sidestepped out of the way, sneering at his opponents.

Wynne cast a protective barrier over the group before joining Morrigan in the fray. Manon began firing an array of bolts in rapid succession, careful to avoid hitting her comrade. One managed to hit its mark, driving into his calf, but it barely slowed him down. Adrenaline kept him on his feet, despite the blood trailing down his leg. Alistair took another swing at the man, his sword just skimming the armor as Howe leapt to the side once more.

Manon’s frustration came to a peak and she let out a cry of fury. Howe glanced at her for merely a fraction of a second, but the momentary distraction had been enough time for Alistair to come running in with a shield bash. He was flung through the air, landing ungracefully on the ground before Alistair stepped on his chest with a heavy boot, knocking the wind out of him. Howe struggled to get up, preparing to strike at Alistair’s ankle, but Manon had already appeared by his side. Staring Howe straight in the eyes, she aimed her crossbow at the man’s shoulder and shot him point-blank. The sheer force of the bolt dug into his flesh, and were it not for the stone floor blocking its path, it might have gone straight through. He let out a cry of agony, his hand instinctively gripping the wound. She waited but a moment before firing again, this time through the other shoulder, and a new scream drew itself from his throat.

Pinned by the bolts, the Arl screamed and writhed on the stone floor, gasping for relief. Her gaze cold and hard, Manon locked eyes with the man before bringing her foot on top of his throat, slowly applying pressure.

He glared at her with a look of pure hatred, his eyes bloodshot and tearing up from the pain. His teeth grit together, caked with blood as he spoke in a raspy voice. “Maker spit on you…” he managed, pouring as much loathing into his voice as was physically capable. She stepped down harder and he let out a pained choking sound. “I…deserved… _more_ …”

His words came to an abrupt end, as did his heart, as his throat was finally crushed beneath Manon’s boot.

With a determined sigh, she got off of the man and took a step back, looking up at Alistair with hesitation. He simply gave her a look of sympathy before slowly shaking his head. The two glanced over at the other side of the room, taking note that the mages had finished their part. The mage Anora had spoken of had indeed been down here and with him dead, the barrier would likely be gone. Returning her focus to the task at hand, Manon tried to suppress her welling emotion as they all returned upstairs.

They arrived back at the guest room, with Erlina still standing outside, and after they informed her of their presence, Anora came out wearing a guard’s uniform. A good idea, Manon noted. It would be difficult to get the Queen out of the estate unnoticed otherwise.

They made their way out into the main hall, but they’d no sooner set foot through the doorway before they were forced to an abrupt halt. The entire chamber was lined with guards, with Loghain’s right-hand standing at the head of them all. “Warden! In the name of the regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men-at-arms,” she declared loudly, her intense glare boring into Manon. “Surrender, and you may be shown mercy.”

Taking a glance around the room, it didn’t take long to realize just how outnumbered they were. Fighting their way out would be incredibly challenging, if not outright impossible. And if that wasn’t enough, there was the fact that the Queen had yet to reach safety. They couldn’t risk endangering her, and while Manon would have loved the chance to strike at Loghain’s lackey, she knew the consequences at the Landsmeet would be dire.

With a resigned sigh, she returned her crossbow to her back and uttered carefully, “I will stand down.”

“Why stop now?” Alistair demanded, poised for battle. “Cauthrien is all that stands between us and freedom.”

“If we fight them, it just reinforces everything Loghain is saying about us,” she responded quietly. With reluctance, Alistair returned his sword to his sheathe, though he continued to stare daggers at Cauthrien.

“I’m surprised this ended peacefully.” Cauthrien gave her men the signal to stand down before giving them further orders. “Bring the Wardens. Loghain doesn’t care about the rest.”

Two of the guards approached Manon and Alistair while their companions, along with Anora, slipped out without interference. The pair were soon cuffed and led out of the room, flanked by guards on all sides. Her head hanging with grief, Manon whispered a small apology to Alistair as they marched along. He didn’t respond, but he swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared straight ahead.  

The Wardens were led to a carriage waiting just outside the estate, but before Manon could even think about getting inside, she was struck to the back of a head by a sharp blow. As her world went black, her last thoughts were of Alistair. If only she’d been a better leader, she might have been able to protect him from whatever fate had in store for them.


	26. Why the Caged Bird Sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While awaiting rescue from Fort Drakon, Manon and Alistair discuss the implications of the Landsmeet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m actually updating kind of frequently now! It’s a freaking miracle!

Sharp, lancing pain coursed throughout Manon’s body. She whimpered, trying to ease her discomfort, but her head continued to throb. Something tightened around her and she instinctively cuddled into their embrace, her hands pawing against a solid surface. Her hand slid along the wall before her, but stopped when she found a distinctive _thump-thump_ beating away underneath. The surface beneath her hand was rough, but incredibly warm, and as she ran her hand across it, soon came to the realization that it was a person.

Slowly, she worked her eyes open, blinking as she gradually adjusted to the light and was met with the worried face of Alistair looking down on her.

“You’re awake…” he breathed with relief, a hand coming to rest on her cheek. Letting out a soft, shaky breath, he leaned his forehead against hers and murmured, “You had me worried there, you know…”

“Alistair…” Her memories slowly returned to her, and she winced upon recalling the events that had led them to this point. She soon became more aware of the exact situation she was in, as well.

The pair had both been stripped to their smalls, and were sitting in a sparse, filthy cell. Alistair had scooted up against the back wall, cradling Manon in his lap in a protective embrace. The concept of being so close together with so little clothing between them might normally have left Manon either excited or embarrassed, but given their current circumstances, fear was more prevalent in her mind.

“What happened? Are you all right?” she asked, looking up at him with concern.

“Well…Cauthrian’s guards walked us out to that carriage, but apparently they weren’t content with just taking us under arrest and decided to knock us out.” He shook his head in aggravation. “They probably did it to keep us from knowing where we were headed, but honestly, they could’ve just put a couple of sacks over our heads…”

When the worry had not washed from her face, he tried offering a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’m okay. I woke up just a little while ago with nothing more than a bump on my head…I was certainly surprised to find us in nothing more than our smalls, though. I reckon they stripped us when we got here. They definitely took our weapons and other belongings…”

Manon shivered a bit at the thought of some unknown guard undressing her while she was unconscious, but in retrospect, perhaps that was for the best. Cautiously, she threw a glance over her shoulder, trying to get a look outside their cage. A guard was walking past, and when he met her gaze, she immediately turned back to face Alistair.

“Where are we?” she asked softly, fearing the answer.

“I’m not entirely sure…It’s not the royal palace dungeon, I think. Too orderly. Fort Drakon, perhaps…” He made a face. “That doesn’t really bode well for us.”

“What’s going to happen to us?” Her voice came out at a whisper, laden with fear. “When Loghain finds out what we did… _Oh, Maker…_ He’s going to kill us, isn’t he? Or…oh, no…What if he tortures us first? That’s what they do here, isn’t it?” Against her will, her words morphed into a small sob and she ducked her head against Alistair’s chest. “Oh, who am I kidding? Of course he’ll torture us…We’ve been a thorn in his side for so long, and if he doesn’t kill us outright, he’ll probably use us as ransom to barter with Eamon…”

Her words became less intelligible near the end as she broke into tears and Alistair immediately regretted his poor choice of words. “Hey, shhh…It’s okay…” he said in an attempt to soothe her, running his hands along her arms despite the mild panic in his own voice. “We’ll get out of this, don’t worry. I’m sure Eamon is working on a plan to free us as we speak.”

Manon’s crying slowly began to die out and she swallowed the growing lump in her throat. Sniffing, she glanced up at him and mumbled halfheartedly, “Y-yeah…I know Wynne definitely won’t stand around waiting…She’d come save us for sure.”

In an attempt to lighten her mood, Alistair gave a small smile and chuckled. “Oh, just Wynne, assaulting Fort Drakon all alone? I know she’s not your typical old lady, but I doubt even she could pull something like that off.”

To his relief, that managed to get a small giggle out of her. “No…but I’m sure Truffles will come with her.”

He laughed out loud at that. “Right, of course. How could I forget our trusty mabari companion?”

They both began laughing at the premise, but cut themselves off upon noticing a guard leering at them through the bars. His predatory gaze was fixed on Manon and she let out a small gasp, burrowing against Alistair for protection. Alistair immediately flipped their positions, so that Manon was huddled in the corner of the cell while his back served as a barrier. He glared menacingly over his shoulder until the man finally seemed to give up and walk away.

They each released a heavy sigh, though Manon was still shaking slightly, her head resting against his shoulder. She was silent for a long time before finally whispering, “How are we going to do this?” Her voice was full of uncertainty, and clearly showed her worry.

“What do you mean?” he asked quietly. “You said it yourself; Wynne and Truffles are going to rescue us, right?” He said it in the most optimistic tone he could manage, though he doubted it was convincing.

“I don’t mean _this_ …I mean…” She let out a soft, regretful sigh. “When we get out of this, we’re still going to have to deal with the Landsmeet. What will become of us when that time comes?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. For all intents and purposes, he’d been avoiding thinking about the Landsmeet for this very reason. He was afraid of what was going to be expected of him, and had opted out of dealing with it for as long as possible.

 “I don’t know,” he ultimately said, flicking his gaze to the side so he didn’t have to look at her. “Arl Eamon wants to make me King…I never ever wanted that, not in my wildest dreams…but I won’t refuse it if it’s in the best interest of the nation either…”

“I think you would make a great King…” Manon mumbled softly, her eyes focused elsewhere.

He looked down at her in surprise and for a while, he was silent. Clearing his throat, he spoke quietly, “I, um…I’m honored you think that, but…” Exhaling deeply, he continued, “I have no idea what being King would mean for us, and…I suppose that’s part of why I’ve put this off for so long…”

Her grip on his shoulders tightened and she let out a shaky breath. She’d been of much the same mindset – from the moment he’d revealed his royal heritage to her, she’d known he would make for a kind and benevolent ruler, but had kept herself from thinking of the implications it would have for their relationship. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, but knowing that the Landsmeet was rapidly approaching, she knew they couldn’t put this discussion off for much longer.

“Whatever happens…know that I love you with every fiber of my being.” She’d finally lifted her gaze to meet his and he could easily see the tears that were welling there.

As he gently began wiping her tears away, he offered her a loving smile. “The feeling is mutual. And I don’t intend to do anything to jeopardize that, trust me.”

She reached up to cup his cheek, returning his affectionate smile, when the sound of the creaking cell door caused her to look up in alarm. Alistair was quick to shield her with his body, turning sharply to address the intruder, but calmed significantly upon realizing who was standing in the doorway.

“It’s good to see you both in one piece. Now, let’s get you out of here.” Wynne’s soothing voice accompanied by Truffles’ excited bark was definitely a comforting welcome.

As he got to his feet, Alistair extended Manon a hand and gave her an amused smile. “When you said Wynne and Truffles would come for us, I was quite sure that was a joke.”

Smiling in turn, she answered, “So did I. But I do so love it when I’m right.”

Bringing them their gear as well as a pair of guard uniforms, Wynne briefly went over their plan of escape.

\------

By the time they finally made it back to the Arl’s estate, the man was overjoyed to see them. “Maker’s Breath! It’s good to see you in one piece, my friend.”

“Indeed,” Anora added calmly. “We have been praying for your safe return, Warden.”

Giving a heavy sigh, Manon asked, “So…What happens now?”

“We will need to work together, and quickly,” answered the Queen. “My father has gone mad. I didn’t believe it at first, but he is gripped by a paranoia so severe it prevents him from seeing sense. He saw me as a threat, yet even now I’m certain he will be telling the nobles you are dangerous murderers that have kidnapped and mind-controlled me. He may even believe it.”

That certainly seemed likely. The man’s actions up until now hadn’t seemed that rational to begin with.

“You will need ammunition come the Landsmeet, and I can help you in that regard,” Anora continued. “You have only just arrived in the city, so perhaps you are unaware of some…recent events.”

Manon’s eyebrows drew together in mild suspicion, but she remained quiet as she waited for an explanation.

“Denerim has been in turmoil since Ostagar. Many people here are angry or grieving. Strangely, the unrest is worst in the Alienage. Few elves accompanied the army. They should have little reason to be upset. Which means that Howe and my father must have given them reason.”

At her words, Manon found herself growing still with anger. Oh, the elves had “little reason” to be upset, did they? Sure, most of the Alienage’s residents were complacent about their poor living conditions, but did that not give them the right to be upset about it? And that’s not even mentioning the social injustices they faced on a daily basis from the humans. The fact that Anora wasn’t even aware Howe had led a purge through the Alienage proved to Manon that the woman cared little for her people. It was no wonder Cailan was so ignorant about the conditions in the Alienage…it was quite possible his guards hadn’t been the only ones preventing him from visiting.

Anora didn’t seem to notice the change in Manon’s attitude, for she continued speaking. “I don’t know what is happening there, but I am certain my father has his hands in it.”

“A useful lead, Anora, but…you could have sent this information with your maid,” Eamon piped in.

“That is true,” she admitted. “I feared for my safety as Howe’s prisoner, but to tell the truth, I sent Erlina to you because I hoped we might join forces. You need that evidence for the Landsmeet, but you also need a stronger candidate for the throne. You need me.”

“And what of Alistair?”

“I have no doubt Alistair is biddable enough, and decent, but even with his blood, he is no king. You think only I can see it? Not only that, Alistair is a Grey Warden. It will look like you are trying to put a Grey Warden on the throne, despite your claims. I am a neutral party – and I am already Queen.”

“Anora, you are indeed Cailan’s widow, but-” Eamon tried to get a word in, but was promptly interrupted.

“I am the daughter of Ferelden’s greatest general. Who do you think truly ruled this nation for the last five years? Cailan?” Turning to Manon, she gave what might have been seen as a friendly smile. “I am what this country needs, not an untrained king who does not even want the throne. I can help you stop my father.”

Prior to this exchange, Manon had actually been considering Anora for the throne. While she supported Alistair’s claim and knew he would make a fine leader, she would have been willing to stand behind the current Queen if it was the best option for Ferelden. After speaking to her, though, she realized that no longer held true. Everyone was going on and on about how the Queen had supposedly been the true ruler the last few years, and she now saw why that could no longer be allowed to continue. If her people were to have any hope of change, a new leader was likely the best place to start.

Noticing Manon’s hesitation, Anora seemed to back off for the moment. “Consider what I have said. For now, I think I will retire to my room. Warden, when you have a moment, I ask that you speak to me in private.”

She gave them all a small nod before departing the room with Erlina in tow. The moment she left the room, Manon turned to Eamon with a raised brow.

“Well, she’s quite…spirited,” he remarked. “I remember when Loghain first brought her to Denerim. Poor Cailan was a good boy, but Anora was always two steps ahead. Had him jumping when she snapped since the first time she batted her eyelashes...I cannot help thinking she may be trouble. But we should keep her close, all the same.”

“Why do you think she’s trouble?” Manon knew her reasons for her dislike of the Queen, but she was curious to hear the Arl’s.

“This is an alliance of convenience – for the moment we are united against Loghain…Be careful how much trust you place in her. I do not for a moment think Anora means to give up her power easily…Still, I would rather have her where we can watch her than actively working for Loghain.”

Giving another heavy sigh, Manon excused herself. Before she departed, Eamon added, “If I might make a suggestion: Go speak with Anora. She will either be a powerful ally, or a powerful enemy, and the sooner we know which she is, the better.”

She made her way to the Queen’s quarters, knocking on the door to signal her arrival. Erlina promptly let her in and led her to a small sitting area where Anora was waiting.

“Hello again, Warden. It is good that you came to speak to me.” Anora spoke with calm composure, and thankfully, Manon had calmed down enough that she could return the favor. “I will be blunt. I can see that your voice will be a strong one in days to come. It is to you that Eamon listens, and with good reason.”

She was certainly surprised to hear this, especially from the Queen. Despite everything she had accomplished so far, she was still of the opinion that her words were less important on account of her being an elf. Regardless, she waited for the Queen to continue.

“My father must be stopped, but once that is done, Ferelden will need a ruler. I would welcome your support for my throne.”

Though Manon felt she already had a firm opinion on that matter, she at least decided to hear her out. It was still possible they could come to some sort of compromise. “Are you proposing an alliance?”

“That is exactly what I am proposing. When the time comes, you support my bid in the Landsmeet to remain on the throne. You will be seen as my father’s enemy, yet you will be in support of his daughter. You will be seen as supporting the interests of Ferelden as opposed to solely those of the Grey Wardens.” She paused but a moment before adding, “In return, I add my voice to yours. Do you see? Together, we do what alone we cannot.”

“You think you’re a better candidate than Alistair?”

“Do you disagree?” she asked with genuine curiosity. “You are a fellow Grey Warden. What do you think of Alistair’s potential to rule, never mind his willingness?”

Pressing her lips together, Manon met Anora with a level gaze before answering calmly, “Being a good ruler requires more than ambition.”

“Alistair seems like a kind, well-meaning man, and biddable enough. These are admirable qualities, if not kingly ones,” Anora admitted, but promptly delved into an argument against him, “He also seems to be a fine Grey Warden – which is exactly why he should remain one, and serve the kingdom by defeating the darkspawn.”

“A kind king who is skilled in battle? I’d say that’s an enticing offer.”

“Oh, there are some who would follow out of respect for his Theirin blood,” Anora conceded, but quickly added, “The others would see this as Eamon grabbing for power. Who else do you think Alistair would turn to for help? Eventually, the nobility would return to the old days of constant warring with each other…Alistair’s weakness would destroy everything Maric built.” She gave a small sigh. “Thus I say again: I would welcome your support for the throne, if you would give it.”

Giving a small frown, Manon answered, “No, I’m afraid I cannot support you.”

The Queen’s brows drew together in disapproval, and her voice was mildly clipped as she answered, “Ah. That’s too bad.”

“Perhaps I could persuade you to support Alistair when the time comes?” While Manon wasn’t fond of the woman as a ruler, she knew having her support in the Landsmeet would be advantageous, assuming she could get it.

A knowing smirk slowly spread across Anora’s face and she spoke with an air of insight. “Maric’s boys are charming, aren’t they? And happiest when they have a woman to dote upon.” Her smile grew ever wider and she tilted her head to the side. “Is that why you support him? The way you speak of him, it…simply makes me curious.”

“I love him, if that’s what you’re asking,” Manon answered truthfully.

The smug look on the Queen’s face soon vanished in favor of seriousness. “And you think this is what he actually wants?” She was silent a moment, wearing an expression of contemplation before continuing quietly, “Maybe it is. If so, then he has changed.” Shaking her head, she let out a soft sigh. “I’ll tell you this: my father must be stopped. Once he is kept from the throne, if it should fall to Alistair, then I will be content.”

Manon allowed her mouth to curve into a small smile and she gave a grateful nod. “Thank you. I should leave you be…”

The Queen returned the gesture before bidding her farewell.

As she returned to the hallway, Manon felt a wave of relief wash over her. Though she’d seemed reluctant about it, it appeared like the Queen would be willing to stand by them when the time came. With that out of the way, she decided to speak with Alistair before heading out to the Alienage. On her way to his room, though, she ended up nearly running into an elven servant.

“I beg your pardon, miss!” the girl spouted frantically, ducking her head and clutching tightly to her broom.

“No, no, it’s all right,” Manon insisted, hoping to calm her down. This was the first of the Arl’s elven servants she’d had the chance to speak to. She opted to try and make small talk. “Are you from Denerim?”

“No, I’m from Redcliffe,” she answered quickly, still not looking Manon in the eye. “Though I do have family here in the city…I’m terribly sorry, but I really can’t be seen standing about. The housekeeper will have my head. Good day.” Her words came out distressed and rushed, and she offered Manon only a quick nod of acknowledgment before rushing off elsewhere.

Manon watched her as she departed before letting out a small sigh. She’d hoped to try and get to know the other elves in the estate, but it seemed like they were all too intimidated to speak with her. Trying to put the disappointment out of her mind, she returned to her previous mission of locating Alistair.

As she approached him, he soon took notice of her and waved her over with a mildly entertained expression.

“So, I’m guessing someone told Anora I was planning to steal her throne…She has a nasty glare.” He gave a low sigh, practically rolling his eyes before speaking. “She wants to be Queen. I _get it_. I don’t trust her any more than her father, but I _get it_.

“What do you think about her?” she asked with a hint of curiosity.

“They say that Anora is smart, determined…she’s supposedly the one who’s really ruled here, not Cailan. She’s her father’s daughter.” Narrowing his eyes, he continued. “Me, I say that’s where the problem lies. People like her and her father always think they’re the only ones who can fix things. So everyone should just…stay out of their way.” He let out an aggravated sigh, the sarcasm of his last sentence slowly trailing off.

That at least managed to put a smile on Manon’s face. She’d been slightly worried that her suspicions of Anora might be unwarranted, but given that both Eamon and Alistair seemed to share her opinion, she felt a little better.

Looking into Manon’s eyes, he added calmly, “What do you think? When the Landsmeet comes, you might even have a say.”

“You really think they’ll listen to an elf?”

Giving a comforting smile and laying a hand on her shoulder, he responded, “I think they’ll listen to a Grey Warden. One who just might save this country yet.”

Her smile widened and she laid her hand on top of his as she addressed him. “Well, _my liege_ , I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

He let out an exuberant laugh before pulling her into his embrace. They both knew that whatever was happening at Manon’s home was likely to be trouble. Taking comfort in each other, they could afford this small moment of solace before diving into what was sure to be a catastrophe in the Alienage.


	27. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Manon learns of the devastation that has plagued her home, she becomes distraught. To make matters worse, her father has been taken and it’s up to her to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that ended up being way longer than I intended, ayyyyyyy...

The Alienage gates were open.

It should have filled Manon with glee, especially given the grim news she’d heard the last time she tried to visit, but she was instead filled with a sense of dread. Regardless of Anora’s apathy for the elves, there had to be at least some truth to her assumptions of unrest in the Alienage, in which case, things did not bode well. There was no telling what they would find inside, and while she desperately wanted to reunite with her family, there wasn’t any guarantee they were even alive.

Attempting to swallow past the growing lump in her throat, she gave a resigned sigh. No way to know for sure until she went in, right?

She and her companions made their way across the bridge, glancing about at the run-down houses they passed along the way. There wasn’t much sign of activity inside and it didn’t escape her notice that the streets were strangely empty. Ignoring the fear that was swelling in her chest, she pressed forward. There had to be _some_ explanation for all of this…

As they got closer to the heart of the Alienage, Manon caught wind of voices in the courtyard and felt a small twinge of relief. At the very least, there were still people left to save. The closer they got, the louder the voices grew, and it quickly became clear that they were all shouting with objection. Rounding the corner into the square, she saw a large group of elves gathered around a small building on the opposite side of the Vhenadahl. Cautiously, she began approaching the mob to try and discern what the disagreement was all about.

“If this _spell_ of theirs works, why are half the people they quarantine perfectly healthy?”

Wait. She knew that voice.

Picking up her pace, Manon rushed to the edge of the crowd, excitement bubbling up within her. In less than no time at all, she’d spotted the head of red hair she’d been seeking and stopped in her tracks.

“Shianni? Is that really you?” The words left her breathlessly and an expression of complete and utter shock was frozen on her face.

Shianni started upon hearing her voice before turning around incredibly slowly. When her gaze landed on Manon, her eyes grew wide with surprise and her mouth hung agape. “I don’t believe it…” She let out a laugh of disbelief before rushing forward at the same time as Manon. The girls threw their arms around each other, nearly dragging themselves into the dirt with the impact of their embrace.

Manon’s grip tightened reflexively and she buried her face in her cousin’s shoulder. Maker, she was real…she was _alive_. She couldn’t put into words how thankful she was to see her alive and well again.

When they broke apart, Shianni’s hands lingered on Manon’s shoulders a moment as she continued to speak with confused wonder. “Maker’s breath! They said all the Grey Wardens died with the King…Everyone thought…Valendrian even held a funeral for you…” She shook her head, trying to put her scattered thoughts in order. “Cousin, you have no idea…the-the things that happened after your wedding…” She soon trailed off, her attention finally landing on the humans surrounding Manon.

At her silence, Manon glanced behind herself before exclaiming, “Oh, right! I suppose introductions are in order…” Turning to face her teammates, she began, “Everyone, this is my cousin, Shianni. Shianni, these are my companions Wynne and Morrigan. And this is Alistair. He’s my…” she hesitated, floundering for an appropriate answer before settling on, “fellow Warden.”

Shianni was quiet for several more moments, wearing an odd expression before it softened into a smile. “Wow…you really have changed…” she said in mild wonder before quickly amending, “For the better, of course.”

Quirking her head curiously, Manon asked, “What do you mean?”

“You’re so much more confident now…and to see you put so much trust in humans? It’s so unexpected…” She let out a small laugh, her face breaking out into a grin. “I’m babbling, aren’t I? I’m just so happy to see you!”

“I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am to see you…” Manon said with a smile of her own. “After I heard about the purge, I was so worried, and…” Her look of excitement began to fade as she realized she had yet to see the rest of her family. “Have you seen Soris?”

“He’s at our house,” Shianni answered easily before her tone became somewhat more hesitant. “He was staying with Alarith, but…well, things are a little tense right now.”

The lump in Manon’s throat, which had just begun to disappear, was now making its way back with earnest.

“A lot of people blame him,” Shianni continued with annoyance. “Can you believe that? They blame _Soris_ as if he were responsible for what the new Arl did to us.”

“Howe is dead. He won’t be hurting anyone else anymore.”

A wide grin quickly spread across Shianni’s face. “All these gifts, and it’s not even my birthday…”

“You just don’t care how much trouble you bring down on us, do you?” One of the elves gathered around the hospice directed her irritated tone at Shianni. “Must be nice to be above your own people.”

“Who brought Vaughn here in the first place?” Shianni bit back. “Tell me what we did to deserve that, and maybe I’ll start caring what you think. Idiot.” Baring her teeth, she continued, “Elves wind up in the market gutters every day over a wrong word, or a look, or nothing at all. That’s how it’s always been. We fight back, or we submit, but it doesn’t change anything.”

She tore her gaze away from the upset elf, returning her attention to Manon, though her expression was still filled with disgust. “I’m not about to shed a tear over that butcher Howe’s death. If I could, I’d kick his grave marker and dance on his ashes.” She gave a little kick into the dirt for emphasis.

A small smile began tugging at Manon’s features. “Don’t hold back, tell me how you really feel.”

“We’d be here all day,” Shianni said, her face softening into its own smile. “And I’d still have more to tell you.”

The amusement on Manon’s face soon began to dwindle and her concerns from before became more prevalent in her mind. “I…haven’t seen my father around. Where is he?”

The look on Shianni’s face immediately turned to one of regret and worry, which only contributed to Manon’s growing fears. “Ah…well, maybe we should go somewhere so you can be sitting down when I tell you this…”

“Shianni,” Manon said with a shaking breath. “Please just tell me…”

She still seemed hesitant, but with a deep sigh, she answered, “The Tevinters quarantined your father yesterday.” At Manon’s look of shock, Shianni quickly added, “I told him not to go to the hospice! Not one elf they’ve taken in there has come out again. Who knows what’s become of them?”

Manon immediately felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. Her father. Taken. Never to be seen again? No, _no_ …This couldn’t be happening. Frantically, she began to ask questions.

“How long has this quarantine been going on?”

“Since Ostagar. Refugees have been pouring in ever since, and when they first showed up, people here got sick.” She gritted her teeth in distaste. “And then these Tevinter vultures began circling, taking people out of the Alienage a few at a time.”

Maker, that did not sound good…Regardless of if the elves being taken in were sick or not, the fact that so many were vanishing completely was incredibly ominous. She needed to have a look inside – she needed to find her father.

“All right,” she declared. “If my father’s in there, then I’m going in, too.”

Shianni’s face immediately lit up. “I knew you’d do something, Cousin! Maker watch over you.”

Glancing over at the hospice entrance, Manon began sizing up the scene. Two guards stood post at the door and several mages were lined up speaking to the elves about their concerns. Even with her persuasive skills, getting inside would be tricky, and not knowing what awaited her within made her all the more cautious. She soon decided to check around back for any other entrances; if that didn’t work, she could always revise her plan then.

Luckily, she found the building’s back door in no time at all, with only a single guard standing post. She momentarily considered knocking him out, but tossed that idea aside in favor of simply bribing him to let them in.

Once inside, they dispatched a few of the Tevinter workers before they began sweeping the place for evidence. Manon approached a desk near the back of the room and started shuffling through the papers before her eyes landed on a small little bundle. She undid the twine holding it together to reveal a key wrapped in a note. It read:

“ _Veras, bring seven males and four females for the next shipment.  –Caladrius”_

Manon’s brows immediately drew together in concern. Just as she was about to show the note to her companions, she took notice of what sounded like muffled voices in the next room. Readying her crossbow, she entered with the intent of fighting more guards, but was instead met with a small group of elves in cages. With a twinge of worry, she noted that her father was not counted among them.

They looked at her with wide, horrified eyes and she immediately sheathed her weapon.

“Help us!” one of them cried. “Please, we’re not sick. Let us out of here!”

“Hang on…” She rushed up to one of the cages, attempting to insert the key into the lock, but it didn’t seem to fit. Looking around, she spotted a ring of keys hanging on the wall and from there, found the appropriate keys to unlock all the cages.

The moment they were free, the elf who’d pleaded for help immediately showed his gratitude. “Thank you! I knew the things they said about you weren’t true.”

She frowned, but decided now was not the time to worry about petty rumors. Instead, she took the chance to ask after her father. “What happened to my father, do you know?”

“They took him a few hours ago. Through the back alley with the others.”

 _Oh, no_ …

She was too late… _again._ If she hadn’t spent so much time dawdling at the estate…

Pushing that thought aside, she instead resolved herself to find her father as quickly as possible. As the other elves made themselves scarce, she found her way towards the apartment complex off the back alleys. It was the most likely place the elves were being transported through, and sure enough, the key she found fit the lock perfectly.

Once they’d entered, her worries only continued to escalate. The typically-cramped quarters of the apartments were eerily bare, and she was immediately struck with a sense of dread.

They managed to locate one elf who was cowering in one of the hallway’s corners. He was incredibly timid and tight-lipped, but after a bit of coaxing, managed to confirm that the Tevinters had indeed brought everyone through here. As the lump in Manon’s throat grew ever bigger, she urged her feet to carry her faster. They needed to get to the bottom of this _now_.

Upon exiting the complex into a reclusive courtyard, Manon and her companions were met with even more resistance in the way of guards. They’d seemed panicked that outsiders had intruded into their little operation, but they attacked before she could even think about confronting them for information. When they entered the next building, though, they were reluctantly forced to a stop.

“What is the meaning of this?” An elven woman, flanked by several guards, confronted Manon with an edge to her voice. “We were told that there would be no interference from the authorities!”

“I’m looking for the elves you’ve brought here,” Manon bit back, just itching to fire her crossbow.

“You will regret this, you know,” the woman responded with an air of superiority. “Believe it or not, we have been given dispensation to do our business here. The humans talk a great deal about how very wrong slavery is, but isn’t it funny how quickly the smell of gold overcomes such ideals?”

 _Slavery?!_ These people were taking hers into _slavery?_ Oh, Maker, she could barely process what was happening…

“You’re an elf!” she sputtered accusingly. “How can you be a part of this?!”

“So this makes us kin?” the woman asked in a taunting manner. “Don’t be a fool. I am Tevinter first and a servant of the Minrathous Circle second. Those are the things that matter.” With a steely gaze, she quickly directed the conversation elsewhere. “But enough. I am here to halt your slaughter, nothing more.”

Slaughter? Oh, yes… _she_ was clearly the one in the wrong here…Never mind that these people had invaded her home, kidnapped her neighbors, and were plotting to sell them into _slavery_ of all things…

Not wasting any time, Manon raised her crossbow and shot a bolt through the woman’s neck, silencing her once and for all. The other slavers were quick to jump into action, but her companions were prepared. Morrigan and Wynne used a variety of magical traps to kill most of the fiends while she and Alistair picked off the stragglers. It might have been possible to talk them down, but she wasn’t going to lose a whole lot of sleep over the matter. She could not afford to spare mercy to such monsters.

They rushed through the rest of the complex, striking at anyone that dared get in their way until they finally happened upon a large, open room. As she neared the railing, she quickly took in her surroundings. Two mages, along with several guards, were gathered in the level below and – she realized with some horror – roughly a dozen elves resided in cages.

“I am Caladrius,” one of the mages declared, approaching Manon with calm appraisal. “And you, I assume, must be the Grey Wardens I’ve heard _so_ much about.”

“I don’t care who you are; you’re going to die.”

Caladrius didn’t seem terribly phased by her threat. He simply continued in that unbelievably placid demeanor. “Are you sure you wish to promote such _rash action_?” he asked with a tilt of his head. “Look around you…Surely we can reach _some_ kind of compromise.”

Manon responded by shooting the man right between his eyes.

She was _done_ with these infuriating excuses for people that thought they could _bargain_ with her. They’d taken her people into slavery…taken her _father_ of all people…No, there would be no room for compromise.

The other mage proved slightly difficult to incapacitate, particularly with the support of the other guards, but Manon was nothing if not determined. It was only a matter of time before she and her fellows had cut down the men before them, just like all they enemies they’d faced thus far. The moment the final enemy fell, she immediately rushed to the body of Caladrius and looted his corpse. She found what appeared to be incriminating paperwork, but decided to save that for later and instead rushed to unlock the elves’ cages.

The elves poured out rapidly, each running for their escape, all except for one. He exited much more slowly, his face frozen on Manon as he became overwhelmed with shock. The moment Manon’s eyes landed on him, she, too, froze where she stood and found herself gaping in awe.

“Papa…?” she asked in a small voice.

Tears pricked his eyes before a warm smile began to blossom on his face and he spread his arms wide in invitation.

Almost immediately, she ran into his arms, practically throwing herself into his embrace. “Papa…” she sobbed loudly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Papa…”

He began shedding tears of his own, holding her tightly as he murmured softly, “My little girl…Maker…”

She was well aware she was wailing like a child and could sense her companions standing there awkwardly, but she couldn’t really be bothered to care. She’d almost lost her father and she was just too happy to finally see him safe and sound again.

When the tears finally stopped falling, she sniffled before looking up at her father with large, watery eyes. He ruffled her hair in a soothing gesture before releasing her and taking a step back. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again…” he whispered, mild wonder in his raspy voice. “When they said all the Grey Wardens died at Ostagar, I prayed they were wrong…” Shaking his head, he met her gaze with worried eyes. “Are you all right? What are you doing here?”

With a somber smile, she answered quietly, “I couldn’t let them hurt my family.”

His face broke out into a wide smile, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes making themselves known. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised…You’re so much like your mother.”

“You really think so?”

“She’d be…well, ‘proud’ doesn’t really describe it…” he said with a small chuckle.

Manon gave a chuckle of her own before she began wiping the lingering tears from her cheeks. After a moment of silence, he stood back a bit and looked at her, mild concern working its way into his expression. “Maker, don’t they feed you Wardens? You’re all skin and bones!”

She almost let out a laugh at that. Months ago, she’d been feeling guilty about her newfound appetite and seemingly excessive food consumption, and yet, just like Alistair had predicted, her father was still concerned she wasn’t eating enough.

“You’ll come by for dinner, won’t you? Your cousins will be absolutely livid if you don’t at least stop by to visit…” He spared a nervous glance at her group of followers before adding hesitantly, “I’d, um…invite your friends, but I’m not sure if we have enough food to accommodate all of them…”

“That’s quite all right,” Morrigan responded casually. “I would hate to interrupt such a warm family reunion.”

“Yes,” Wynne echoed before her face stretched into a smirk. “Although…I do believe it would be remiss not to invite Alistair to this little gathering…it’s his chance to meet the family, after all.”

Alistair and Manon’s faces both began heating up at her remark, though Cyrion merely glanced at his daughter in confusion. “I, uh…” Manon mumbled, shifting awkwardly on her feet. “Would it be too much to ask Alistair to join us? I was hoping to introduce you all…”

After a moment of confused silence, Cyrion answered with slight caution, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt…”

\------

Once they’d ensured Cyrion’s safety, Manon had taken the chance to get a proper look at the papers she’d pulled off of Caladrius. To her horror, they were documents authorizing the removal of elves from the Alienage, bearing the seal of none other than Loghain Mac Tir. She shouldn’t have been surprised, given everything the man had done to them so far, but her anger towards the man suddenly became even more personal.

Regardless of her grudge, now was not the time to think of such things. She sent the papers back with Wynne and Morrigan to pass off to Eamon while she spent some time with her family. After several months of being separated from them, she could afford this small moment of calm.

When she and Alistair arrived at her house, Soris was ecstatic to see her. He pulled her into a tight hug, going on and on about how much he missed her and she returned the favor. As she looked around the house, she noticed a distinct lack of Valora, and when she asked after her presence, Soris’ face immediately fell. Apparently she’d gone to the hospice a week ago, which meant she was long gone by now. To make the news even worse, she was not the only victim Manon had known personally – Valendrian, the Alienage’s Elder had also been taken away right under their noses.

She wanted to reprimand herself for not being able to save them in time, but her family was quick to redirect her interests, asking questions about her adventure and sharing a number of jokes.

Once her attention had been sufficiently distracted, her father prompted her to introduce Alistair. “You, uh…said you brought this young man here for a reason? I must admit to some curiosity…”

Manon spared a quick glance at Alistair, taking note of his nervous expression. Clearing her throat, she began, “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Alistair. He was the first friend I made at Ostagar, and…” she hesitated, chewing on her lip in uncertainty before mumbling, “We’re also…together…”

Her face began flushing with heat, and Alistair’s cheeks were also tinted pink as he stared at the floor.

Her family members were silent for several moments, staring at them with unreadable expressions before Soris exclaimed, “Well, congratulations! Say…Cousin, you think you could join me in the kitchen for a bit? There was something I wanted to show you…”

Manon gave a brief look of apology over her shoulder as she was led out of the room and Alistair gulped nervously. He could feel the judgmental eyes sizing him up and did his best to ignore them by staring pointedly at a spot on the table. His awkward solitude didn’t last long, though. Soon enough, Cyrion had approached him and he gave a small, inward curse.

After a long moment of silence, the man’s eyes narrowed slightly before he spoke. “Promise me you’ll make her happy.”

“I…what?” Alistair asked with some confusion.

“She deserves some good in her life…All I ask is you can prove that you’re worthy of her. If you can, you’ll gladly be welcomed into this family. If not, well…” He met Alistair’s gaze with surprisingly cold eyes before muttering, “I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.”

Alistair nodded dumbly, his eyes wide as she stared down at Manon’s father. The man was at least half a head shorter than him, yet he found himself frightened of what might happen should he not be able to please him.

Once he’d delivered his message, Cyrion’s face immediately warmed back into a smile and he gave Alistair a friendly pat on the back before heading back into the kitchen.

Alistair immediately let out a sigh of relief, glad to be free of his scrutiny for the moment. The others soon came out of the kitchen; Cyrion and Soris carrying the pot of stew while Manon balanced a stack of dishes in her arms. Rushing to her side, Alistair helped her the rest of the way to the table, ensuring the dishes got safely to their destination. When they’d reached the table, his hand lingered on the small of her back and she glanced up at him with a sheepish smile. He quickly realized what this must look like and jumped back, a blush rising up his neck as he nervously rubbed the back of his head.

While he began helping to set the table, he could sense the glares of Manon’s cousins boring into him. Focusing on the task before him, he tried to put them out of his mind, if at least temporarily. When the table was finally set, Cyrion began dishing up food for everyone.

As everyone dug into their food, the tension in the room seemed to ease a little, though Shianni’s sharp gaze kept drifting towards Alistair’s direction.

“This is really good!” Alistair commented, his high-pitched voice betraying his nervousness. Clearing his throat slightly, he added, “It’s pork, right? We didn’t have much access to pork in the wilderness, and the meat we bought at the markets never kept very long…” He trailed off with an anxious laugh, his eyes lowering in mild discouragement.

Just when it seemed like no one was going to answer him, Soris piped in, “That’s right. Alarith’s been really generous with his wares lately.” He bestowed a small smile on Alistair before continuing. “Since I haven’t been able to leave the house much lately, he comes by every so often to drop off any food that didn’t sell and would end up going bad. Rather than just throw it out, he usually ends up giving it out to people.”

Seeing that Soris was talking to him without any malice in his voice, Alistair’s face immediately brightened and he rejoined the conversation, talking about similar people he’d known during his childhood in Redcliffe.

Taking another bite of her stew, Manon smiled. It was nice to see them getting along, even if things had been a little bumpy at the start. Perhaps she’d been worried for nothing.

When everyone had finished their meal, Alistair volunteered to do the dishes, while Cyrion pulled Manon aside to give her a family heirloom. As Alistair scrubbed away at the plates, he hummed a little tune, but was pulled out of his reverie when he noticed Shianni step up to his side.

He immediately stopped his humming; setting the dish he was working on aside as he dried his hands on a towel. “Hey…what can I do for you?” Thankfully, he managed to keep his voice somewhat level as he asked this.

Her face was drawn into a distasteful scowl and she threw an accusatory finger at his chest. “If you so much as _think_ about hurting her, I’ll make you regret it.”

Any trace of humor vanished from his face in an instant and he mumbled with uncertainty, “I’m…sorry?”

“No, _sorry_ is what you’ll be if I find out you’ve broken her heart.” Shianni’s voice was harsh, her eyes grim and focused on him. “She has been through too much to face that kind of heartbreak. So I’m giving you a warning now – if you’re even _considering_ taking advantage of her, I will rip out your heart with my bare hands.”

Alistair swallowed thickly, his face growing pale.

“If you strike her in anger, I will break each of your fingers one bone at a time.” The edge in her stare told Alistair she was entirely serious. “If you decide she’s worthless and cast her aside, I will hunt you down and feed you your own eyeballs for supper.”

Alistair’s eyes had gone wide with fear and against his will, he found himself taking a step back. Maker…Manon had gone on and on about how much she loved her cousin and wanted to protect her, so he’d come to the assumption that the girl was on the meek side, much like her. While her outburst in the courtyard earlier might have given him some indication that that preconception was wrong, it in no way prepared him for the outburst of threats he was receiving at this moment. How was it that she managed to be so much more intimidating than Manon’s father and older cousin combined?

“Understood?” Her sharp voice pulled Alistair from his thoughts and he gave a rapid series of nods.

“Y-yes, ma’am…” he croaked out, wincing inwardly at the quality of his voice.

She stared at him a moment longer before nodding resolutely. “Good.”

By the time Shianni had finished chewing him out, Manon and her father had finished their private conversation. She walked up to him with a bright smile, but upon seeing his face, soon grew concerned.

“Maker, Alistair…you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. What’s wrong?” She held a hand to his cheek, her brows drawing together as she looked at him in worry.

“Uh…nothing, it’s nothing…” he muttered lamely, returning to his previous task of washing the dishes.

She didn’t seem convinced, but was content to drop the issue for the time being. Coming up next to him, she began helping as she bumped his shoulder playfully. “So…you and Soris seemed to be getting along nicely.”

“Huh? Oh – yeah…He’s certainly fun to talk to…”

“I knew it!” she exclaimed with a grin. “I just knew you two would get along famously.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “If only the rest of your family was as agreeable as him…”

“Oh, don’t worry about them…” Manon said dismissively. “My father was probably just doing his job, and Shianni…well…she’s kind of distrustful of humans based on principle – human men especially, so it’ll take a while before she warms up to you.” Glancing up at him, she offered a comforting smile. “Just give it time…I bet you’ll be a part of this family before you know it.”

“I’ll believe _that_ when I see it,” he chuckled, leaning over to press a kiss on her cheek.

“Mm…” she hummed in agreement. “Even if that never happens, does it really matter?” She tilted her head at him sheepishly. “The important thing is that we love each other…So long as that stays true, nothing will come between us.”

His face relaxed into a warm smile at her words. Setting his work aside, he pulled her closer, wet hands and all, to press a series of kisses along her neck. She was spurred into giggles, fighting against his soapy grip halfheartedly before ultimately relaxing into his embrace.

As he ran his hands along her back, Alistair attempted to distract himself from his lingering worries. The Landsmeet would be held tomorrow, and not only would the future of Ferelden be decided, but so would the nature of their relationship. Holding the elf in his arms tightly, he vowed to himself that regardless of what came of tomorrow, he refused to let her go – no matter what.


	28. It's For the Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreaded day of the Landsmeet has finally arrived and the future of Ferelden will be decided once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were two routes I could have gone with this chapter: either I include all the Landsmeet dialogue and consequent commentary, or simply summarize the events. Given that this was Manon's first real entry into the realm of politics, something which is an important part of her character arc, I felt it necessary to go with the former.
> 
> (Also...we're almost to the end now. I'm estimating 3 more chapters left, but since my outline isn't a perfect measurement, that could possibly change.)
> 
> (And I just hit the 100,000 word mark...holy balls...)

After Manon and Alistair’s return to Eamon’s estate, the group briefly went over their plan of attack. Manon had spoken to as many nobles as she could, notifying them of Loghain and Howe’s misdeeds, so all that needed to be done now was to confront the man himself.

Eamon and Teagan set off first, for the sake of appearances, while Manon gathered her companions. In addition to Alistair, she elected to bring Wynne and Truffles. She didn’t want to come off as a threat, yet the idea of encountering Loghain without any backup was not appealing in the slightest. Her group made their way to Denerim’s palace as quickly as possible, but the moment they’d stepped through the front door, they were halted by none other than Loghain’s second in command.

“Warden, I am not surprised it has come to this,” Cauthrian said smoothly before directing her gaze over Manon’s shoulder. “And Alistair, if you were even remotely worthy of being called Maric’s son, you would already _be_ in the Landsmeet…now wouldn’t you?” Pausing, she turned back to Manon, continuing in her calm, yet accusatory tone. “You have torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who ensured you were born into freedom…But do not think you will get past me to desecrate the Landsmeet itself.”

Manon held back from giving an exasperated sigh. Somehow, she doubted her life would be much different if Ferelden had indeed been occupied by Orlais, though she knew saying so would only fall on deaf ears.

“The nobles of Ferelden will confirm my lord as Regent and we can finally put this to rest once you are gone.”

“Do you really not see what Loghain has become?” Manon was very much aware of Cauthrian’s loyalty to Loghain, but perhaps she could sway her as she’d swayed some of the nobles so far.

Cauthrian’s expression wavered somewhat and she hesitated before answering. “I have had…so many doubts of late…Loghain is a great man, but his hatred of Orlais has driven him to madness.” Her gaze flicked downward as more reservation laced its way into her voice. “He has done terrible things; I know it. But I owe him _everything_. I cannot betray him, do not ask me to.”

“Then let me stop him,” Manon said calmly. “You know it’s the only way.”

“I never thought duty would taste so bitter…” Cauthrian muttered, stepping out of Manon’s path and turning her gaze to the side. “Stop him, Warden. Stop him from betraying everything he once loved.” Taking a knee, she bowed her head. “Please…show mercy. Without Loghain, there would be no Ferelden to defend.”

Manon’s expression softened somewhat upon seeing Cauthrian on her knees. She hadn’t cared much for the woman, especially after all she’d done to her and Alistair, yet she felt a bit of sympathy for her. She truly was acting solely on her loyalty to Loghain, yet even so, she was dignified enough to know when to put that loyalty aside for the sake of what was right. She couldn’t say she would actually offer Loghain any mercy, but seeing that Cauthrian was so willing to dedicate her life to the man…it gave her a bit more insight into what his character might have been like before he’d gone all power hungry.

Not wasting any more time, she briskly approached the doors ahead, opening them with little more than a creak as they entered the throne room. Thankfully, Cauthrian hadn’t delayed them too much. From the sound of things, it appeared as though they’d arrived relatively early into Eamon’s argument.

“My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms, our traditions, out of fear! He placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny in his hands? Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?”

Everyone began applauding his words, though Loghain was quick to cut in with a deliberate, sarcastic series of slow claps. “A fine performance, Eamon, but no one here is taken in by it.” Eamon’s eyebrows lowered by small degrees as Loghain continued assaulting him with accusations. “You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne, and every soul here knows it. The better question is ‘who will pull the strings?’”

As Manon and Alistair made their way to the front of the room, the crowd parted readily as they passed. When they’d reached the edge of the nobles, Loghain immediately spotted them and hollered, his voice loud and grating. “Ah! And here we have the puppeteer…”

Manon met his glare evenly; her fear of the man having mostly dissolved into quiet hatred.

“Tell us, Warden: How _will_ the Orlesians take our nation from us?” He stepped to the head of the room, sending a sneer her way. “Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince? How much Fereldan blood does Orlesian gold buy these days?”

Maker, he was delusional…Where was he even _getting_ these ideas?”

“The Blight is the threat here, not Orlais!” Manon declared in a bold voice.

“There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that abundantly clear.” Bann Alfstanna’s voice called from the upper balcony, igniting a chorus of cries of agreement.

“The south is fallen, Loghain!” Arl Wulff reiterated with exasperation. “Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?”

“The Blight is indeed real, Wulff, but do we need Grey Wardens to fight it?” Loghain countered. “They claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed _spectacularly_ against the darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of Chevaliers.” He paced back and forth restlessly, his loud preaching echoing against the walls of the chamber. “And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers, can we _really_ expect them to simply return from whence they came?”

Again with the Orlesians…

Not wanting to get into a circular argument, Manon decided to take a different course of action and bring up a piece of evidence sure to implicate Loghain. “And what of the crimes of your allies? You allowed Rendon Howe to imprison and torture innocents.”

Before Loghain could get a word in, Bann Sighard immediately leaned forward from his spot on the balcony. “The Warden speaks truly!” His voice was full of desperation, of both the weary and angry variety. “My son was taken under cover of night. The things done to him…some of them are beyond any healer’s skill.”

His revelation was met with a plethora of horrified gasps, the nobles turning to one another in varying degrees of shock.

“Howe was responsible for himself,” Loghain insisted, standing firm in his argument. “He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life. As must we all…But you know that,” he uttered dangerously. “You were the one who murdered him.”

Manon was fully prepared to defend that point on the basis of rescuing the Queen and defending herself, but instead waited for the right opportunity.

“Whatever Howe may have done, he should have been brought before the Seneschal. There is no justice in butchering a man in his home.”

Ah. And there it was…

Schooling her emotions, she did her best to suppress the confident smile that threatened to spread across her face. “No? Then why did you send a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon?”

The man’s eyes narrowed even further, if that was even possible, and he growled, “I assure you, Warden, _if_ I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers. I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate.”

“Indeed? My brother tells a very different tale.” Unlike Manon, Alfstanna made no effort to mask the self-assurance of her tone. “He says you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry’s justice. _Coincidence_?”

Upon hearing this, the Grand Cleric’s face immediately hardened into a scowl before she turned her wrath upon Loghain. “Do not think the Chantry will overlook this, Teyrn Loghain. Interference in a Templar’s sacred duties is an offence against the Maker.”

Many more aggravated cries accompanied the Grand Cleric’s confrontation, but they soon faded as the Teyrn spoke to his defense. “Whatever I have done, I will answer for later…” Turning to Manon, he continued in a scathing tone, “At the moment, however, I wish to know what this Warden has done with my daughter.”

“What have I done? I’ve protected her from you,” Manon answered innocently.

“You took my daughter – our Queen – by force,” he continued in accusation, “killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still _live_?”

“I believe I can speak for myself.” Anora announced her presence with smooth composure and a pleasant smile. Her arrival was met with many shocked gasps, though she ignored them as she headed to the front of the room.

As the Queen made her way forward, Manon allowed herself a smile. Anora would set this straight.

“Lords and Ladies of Ferelden, hear me. This Warden has slandered and defamed Ferelden’s greatest hero in a bid to put an imposter on Maric’s throne.”

All at once, the satisfaction on Manon’s face dissolved into stark confusion. “What?!”

She should have known better, given the woman’s reluctance to hand over her throne, but she thought Anora would at least wait until _after_ Loghain had been dealt with before resorting to any backstabbing tactics. Apparently, she’d severely misjudged where the Queen’s loyalties lay.

“Oh, and she turned on us. What a shock,” Alistair drawled sarcastically. “She seemed like such a _nice_ despot.”

“It has become clear to me, Warden, that the true threat to this nation is you,” Anora continued with a look of mild disdain. “I offered you the chance to ally with me for the good of this nation, and you refused it. I will not allow you to destroy the throne Cailan and I have held.”

Maker, but she was selfish…Manon only hoped that the Queen’s betrayal wouldn’t undo any of the support they’d garnered so far…

“Who here can say that Anora is not fit to rule this land? And who can say that this Alistair is?” Loghain demanded in his harsh, booming voice. “We know nothing of him save that he _may_ have royal blood.” He spared Alistair no more than a glance before continuing his argument. “For five years, Anora has been Queen, and proven herself worthy of the Theirin name. She can lead our people through this crisis, and I can lead her armies.”

He turned to address the nobles gathered in the balconies, raising his voice another volume as he urged them to listen to his words. “My lords and ladies, our land has been threatened before. It’s been invaded, and lost, and won times beyond counting. We Fereldans have proven that we will never truly be conquered so long as we are united. We must not let ourselves be divided now. Stand with me, and we shall defeat even the Blight itself!”

Manon held her breath and stared at the space in front of her. It all came down to this…If the nation didn’t stand behind her, well…she didn’t really want to think about that…

Suffice it to say she was surprised when Arl Bryland’s voice spoke up first. “South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens.”

His vote was soon echoed by Alfstanna. “Waking Sea stands with the Grey Warden!”

“Dragon’s Peak supports the Warden!”

Slowly, Manon looked up at the balconies to see the adamant faces of all the nobles casting their votes. One by one, their voices of support restored her confidence, and with it, their chance of victory. Though a few nobles voted in favor of Loghain, the vast majority of those gathered made it clear that they were on her side.

“I stand with the Warden! The Blight is coming; we need the Grey Wardens!”

And that was the final vote. The audience immediately erupted into cheers, the decision having been largely unanimous. The fact that so many of the nobles went against the current Queen either because of their dislike of Loghain or their faith in Manon was entirely unexpected, but certainly was appreciated.

Filled with an odd sense of pride, Manon turned to Loghain and declared, “The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain. Step down gracefully.”

“Traitors!” Loghain spat, his hateful tone overshadowing the applause of the crowd. “Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?!” Turning his disgusted gaze to Eamon, he continued yelling in his gravelly voice, “You _fought_ with us once, Eamon. You _cared_ about this land once. Before you got too old and fat and content to even see what you risk.” He addressed the Landsmeet with such intense loathing; anger practically dripping from him. “None of you deserve a say in what happens here! None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have! How _dare_ you judge me?”

Loghain’s guards stood at the ready, poised to reach for their weapons should he give the signal.

Would he really attempt to pull a coup despite having been overruled? Not wanting to wait and find out, Manon began pulling at strings for any alternate solutions.

“You speak of honor, yet you would attack us on the basis of disagreement? Surely we can settle this another way.”

Slowly, the rage seemed to simmer out of Loghain as he thought her request over. Eventually, he acquiesced, “Then let us end this…I suppose we both knew it would come to this.” He looked her over thoughtfully before remarking, “A man is made by the quality of his enemies…Maric told me that once. I wonder if it’s more a compliment to you or me…” He stood in silence for several more moments, but eventually cut off his own train of thought. “Enough. Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel.”

“It shall be fought according to tradition,” Alfstanna began in explanation. “A test of arms in single combat until one party yields. And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome.”

“Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?”

Manon didn’t stand a chance against him…He was a seasoned veteran warrior, while she was only adept with a crossbow. He’d take her down in no time whatsoever. It was obvious there was only one person suited to take up the position.

“Alistair will be my champion.”

Alistair responded with an affirmative nod. She’d known he would leap at the chance to fight against Loghain, and he accepted his role without any resistance.

An intrigued smirk stretched across Loghain’s face as he regarded them. “Then let us test the mettle of our would-be king.” Turning to Alistair, he declared, “Prepare yourself!”

Alistair turned to Manon, staring at her resolutely. Giving what she hoped was an encouraging smile, Manon took his gauntlet-covered hands in hers, and whispered, “I know you can do it.”

Returning her smile, he nodded before pulling himself together and making his way to his spot in the center of the room.

The two warriors stood across from one another, gazes filled with malice and hands poised to grab their weapons. The tension of their stances had all the nobles taking a wary step back, eager to distance themselves from what was sure to be an intense fight.

They stared one another down for a long, aching moment, the hostility between them crackling in the air. Not breaking eye contact with Loghain, Alistair drew his sword, eliciting a series of gasps from the crowd. Slowly, with measured purpose, the men began walking counter-clockwise, constantly keeping their gazes trained on each other. By the time they’d switched spots, Loghain also drew his blade, triggering even more worried exclamations from their audience.

Loghain struck first, rushing ahead with great speed. The utter power behind his blow should have been enough to knock Alistair on his feet, but their swords clashed evenly, with his footwork only faltering slightly.

Parrying, Alistair broke their blades out of their locked position, sending Loghain back a step. He took the opportunity to swing at the man, but Loghain met his blade easily. This kept up for a few seconds more; each warrior swinging their swords at the other and a loud clang echoing throughout the hall then they collided.

When an opening presented itself, Alistair attempted a strike at his opponent, but Loghain swiftly ducked it in the same motion. Rounding through the motion, he used his momentum to kick Alistair square in the chest, sending him to the ground.

Manon let out a gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as she watched with wide eyes. Alistair was strong, and more than skilled in battle, but she worried for him even so. He was up against a veteran warrior with decades of experience on him, while he’d been training for a few years at best. She had faith in him, yet the fear of what would happen should he fail was prevalent. Supposedly, this was not a fight to the death, and she was fairly certain Alistair would yield should he need to, but there was no guarantee he would escape unscathed.

Loghain made as if to strike down Alistair, but he quickly rolled out of the way, pulling himself to his feet and bringing his sword down upon Loghain. The elder warrior met his blow with a defensive stance, holding it for several moments before breaking out of it.  

Alistair stumbled back a few steps and Loghain took the opportunity to ram him with a shield bash. Luckily, Alistair was quick to pull up his own shield, and as the man crashed into him, it took most of the damage. As Loghain pushed harder, Alistair began to slide back a bit, but took advantage of the situation by rounding to the side and aiming for Loghain’s unguarded back.

Loghain was quick to right himself, diverting Alistair’s attack before moving in with a blow of his own. Alistair regained himself swiftly enough, meeting Loghain’s strike with equal strength. Their swords met with a loud clang, the metal sliding loudly against itself as their blades remained locked in place.

The duel kept up for a while longer, each warrior attempting to get the upper hand, but promptly being thwarted by the other. Despite what should have been a significant gap in skill, it appeared they were evenly matched.

Panting heavily, Alistair rushed forward, striking at Loghain with incredible fervor. Their blades clashed a few more times, each man grunting with frustration. In one move of great power and precision, Alistair brought his blade parallel to his opponent’s; knocking the weapon from his grip and disarming him. Without giving Loghain any time to react, he kicked the man in the stomach, sending him flying backwards.

Before Loghain could pull himself to his feet, Alistair was at his side, his blade pointed at the man’s throat.

Grimacing, he met Alistair’s gaze evenly, somewhat out of breath. “So…there is some of Maric in you after all…Good.”

“Forget Maric,” Alistair uttered darkly, his eyes narrowed in hatred. “This is for Duncan.”

Without another word, he brought his sword down hard, driving it into Loghain’s throat. His action was met with a plethora of shocked and horrified gasps, and Anora let out a soft cry of distress. Silently, Alistair pulled his sword out and stared at the man’s body for but a moment before resolutely walking away.

Anora rushed to her father’s body, throwing herself across him and weeping openly, though the rest of the crowd had gone rather hushed.

Eventually, after Anora had been given what was deemed sufficient time to mourn, Loghain’s body was removed by the guards and a few servants were brought in to clean up the blood. People were still whispering amongst themselves, seemingly having mixed reactions about the results of the duel.

As for Manon, she was also somewhat unsure…She had just as many reasons to hate Loghain as Alistair, yet from an outsider’s perspective, his choice to kill the man without even waiting for a surrender had almost seemed brutal…Was that what she had looked like when she killed Vaughan? Or Howe?

There was no doubt the men deserved their deaths, yet there was also no denying that her anger turned her into something ugly. Her constant need for revenge nearly blinded the compassion she was more typically fond of…She didn’t think any less of Alistair for his actions, but it gave her a bit of perspective into her own state of mind.

\------

Once the commotion had died down, Eamon took the chance to address the nobles. “So it is decided. Alistair will take his father’s throne.”

“I accept this decision,” Alistair said with a humble nod. “I will be King, if the Landsmeet will have me.”

“Anora, the Landsmeet has decided against you. You must now swear fealty to our king, and relinquish all claim to the throne for yourself and your heirs.”

Glaring at the Arl with mild disdain, Anora retorted, “If you think I will swear that oath, Eamon, you know nothing of me.”

Manon gave a small sigh. The people had made their decision, yet she was still being so stubborn… “Anora, be reasonable…”

“ _Reason_ clearly had nothing to do with _your_ choice, Warden,” Anora bit back, her face drawn into a scowl.

“We cannot leave Ferelden in a state of civil war,” Eamon insisted. “We must have unity. If she will not swear fealty to you, Alistair, and renounce her claim to the throne, she is a threat to us all.”

“Put her in the tower for now,” Alistair decided with a surprising amount of inflection. “If I fall against the Blight, then she can have her throne. If not…then we’ll see…” he finished ominously, his expression grim and serious.

“You would give me a chance for the throne after all this?”

Manon practically rolled her eyes. Of course _that_ was the piece of information she’d pulled out of the discussion…She had one of the most one-track minds Manon had ever seen.

“I said if I fall, Anora. If I fall, the throne falls to you. I won’t kill you while there’s a chance that could happen. Somebody has to treat this Blight seriously.”

“That is uncharacteristically wise of you,” Anora noted.

“Yes, well…don’t let it get around. I have a reputation,” Alistair muttered, turning his gaze to the side as his eyes narrowed in distaste.

“Very well, then,” Eamon declared. “Guards, take her away.”

This decision was met with a variety of gasps from the audience, though she followed the guards out with calm, noble composure. There was murmuring among the crowd as the former Queen was led out of the chamber, but they didn’t seem too bothered as it died out quickly enough.

“Your Highness,” Eamon continued, his attention directed at Alistair. “Would you address the Landsmeet?”

“Oh! Uh, that would be me, right?” Alistair asked in a perky tone as he stepped forward. Clearing his throat, he began, “Um…I never knew him, but from all I’ve heard of my father, what defined him was his commitment to protecting this land.”

As Alistair continued his speech, Manon couldn’t help but watch on in awe and fascination. Though his words were a bit awkward and stilted at the start, he found his confidence soon enough and fell into the role of King with surprising swiftness.

“When the Blight is over, I’ll come back and take up my duties…whatever they are…as king.” His words were met with a chorus of cheers from the audience and right away, Manon knew he would be loved by the people. “Until then, I think Arl Eamon will have to be my regent.”

Eamon stepped in front of Manon to take his place by the King’s side, offering him a low bow. “Then I can do Maric’s memory no less honor than you do. I accept. And may the Maker bless your efforts against the darkspawn.”

“Everyone!” Alistair announced, his voice carrying across the room. “Get ready to march! It’s going to take all of Ferelden’s strength to survive this Blight. But we will face it. And we’ll defeat it!”

The crowd erupted into applause, and before Manon knew it, they’d all begun pressing forward, eager to get a word with their new King. As they swarmed around him, she was gradually pushed back from the crowd until she stood at the edge, dumbfounded at the sight before her.

Alistair was clearly taken aback by the amount of attention he was receiving, but as his admirers began spouting words of praise, he bashfully accepted their compliments.

As happy as Manon was for him, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of loneliness. Standing here on the edge of the crowd, she came to the realization that she was not a part of his world…she never had been. Though she was a Grey Warden and had convinced the nobles to take his side, as an elf, she could never achieve that same level of respect…And why had she allowed herself to believe any differently?

He was going to be King now…She’d played a part in ensuring that, yet she couldn’t avoid the drowning sorrow that accompanied the realization. As a woman pawed at his arm and he blushed with embarrassment, she was forced to face another truth. He was going to need a Queen…a human one. One who wasn’t fated to a life of misfortune due to her tainted blood…And besides, why would he still want her when he could have his pick of any noble he desired?

As the feeling of dread burrowed deeper into her heart, she slowly began backing to the edge of the room, fighting to hold back her tears. He was going to end it with her, he _had_ to…She wasn’t _useful_ anymore…

Suppressing a sob, she held a hand to her chest as she leaned against the doors to the chamber. She wasn’t needed anymore. They’d found Riordan and with the army she’d gathered and the possible help of the Orlesian Wardens, they were more than capable of taking on the Blight. It wasn’t like she’d contribute much anyway. What could her weak stature and silly bolts do that they couldn’t manage on their own? She’d served her purpose and now…she was going to be cast aside.

She didn’t want to let that happen – couldn’t bear the idea of it. Just _thinking_ about Alistair abandoning her caused her heart to wrench with fear. She knew that if she heard the words spoken aloud, she wouldn’t be able to take it.

As Truffles padded up to her, whining with worry, she decided to leave before that could happen.

“C’mon, boy…” she murmured softly, urging the dog to her side. “Let’s go…we’re not needed here anymore…”

He looked up at her sadly, letting out more noises of distress, but followed without objection. The two quietly made their way out of the chamber, and as they left, not a single soul noticed them go.


	29. I Choose You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manon has disappeared and Alistair can’t seem to find her anywhere. Overcome with grief, he receives help from an unlikely source and finds the motivation needed to search her out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was somewhat of an odd chapter to write, since almost all of it was written from Alistair's perspective and Manon has been present in every scene until now. It was an interesting opportunity though, to get inside his head for longer than just a few snippets, and to see him interact with some of the companions and how they talk about Manon when she isn't there.

When Alistair had finished his speech and been swarmed by nobles, he’d been taken aback to say the least. The attention he’d received was entirely unexpected; he certainly had no idea he’d be so popular with the members of Ferelden’s court, especially since he hadn’t even had his coronation yet.

Some of the nobles got a little too close for comfort, asking probing questions like what his previous battles had been like, or what he was planning for his first act as king. He did his best to answer them, though he mostly deflected his answers towards the Blight, saying that those decisions would come _after_ he survived the mess.

Gradually, the commotion began to die down and he was allowed a little more breathing room. Glancing around, his eyes began searching for Manon. They hadn’t had the chance to speak since before the duel and he had yet to thank her. She’d managed to make this all work out somehow and for that, he was extremely grateful. She’d gathered allies for them from all across Ferelden, and now that they’d persuaded the humans, they’d be able to finish this once and for all.

His eyes continued to flit about the room, but when he realized he couldn’t find a single sign of her, confusion began to work its way into his expression. Excusing himself from the crowd gathered around him, he sought out Wynne and hurried to her side.

“Wynne? Have you seen Manon anywhere?”

The older woman seemed a bit puzzled by his question, taking a look around the room herself only to discover that the Warden in question was indeed gone. “Odd…I would have thought she would stay until the end…It’s unlike her to just leave so suddenly…”

The worry that Alistair had been fighting against soon began knotting itself into his chest, settling uncomfortably.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Wynne quickly amended. “It’s entirely likely she was just overwhelmed by everything and wanted some time alone. She probably just went back to the estate to rest up a bit…” Her eyes continued to scan the room, and her brows slowly creased together. “Although it is a bit strange…now that I’m truly looking, it appears as if her mabari is gone, as well…”

Alistair swallowed thickly, trying not to look about too frantically, even though he was growing more anxious by the second.

Looking back at Alistair, Wynne put on a comforting smile. “It’s probably nothing. Come, let us return to the Arl’s estate. With luck, she will be there waiting for us.”

Before he could agree, Eamon had appeared by his side, asking after his plans. “Your Highness, we have word that the Horde is presently making its way to Redcliffe. We should begin marching there as soon as possible. When will you be ready to depart?”

“Um…I’m not sure…” Alistair answered hesitantly, not looking Eamon in the eye. “Manon seems to have disappeared…Once we find her, I’m sure we can join you.”

“Very well,” Eamon replied after a long pause. “As time is of the essence, I’ll be setting off as soon as possible. I ask that you follow at your earliest convenience.” He gave a bow of respect before backing away.

Returning his attention to Wynne, Alistair followed the mage as they made their way back to the estate.

\------

Once they’d returned, Alistair immediately rushed for Manon’s room. He tried to tell himself not to panic, that she would be sitting on the bed and laugh with amusement when he told her just how worried he’d been. When he arrived and found her room dark and bare though, his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

He checked his room next, just in case she’d come to wait for him there, but it was also empty. Panicking, he ran back to the entry chamber, desperately searching for anyone that might have gotten a glimpse at her. When he noticed Shale standing in the corner, he hurried to the golem’s side.

“Shale!” he panted, slightly out of breath from all his running around. “Have you seen Manon? Did she come through here at all?”

“Yes,” the golem answered simply and Alistair’s hopes immediately perked up. “It came through here a while ago, with that dog in tow…It went upstairs without so much as a ‘hello’ before returning with its belongings and leaving through the front door.”

The lump in Alistair’s throat grew ever larger and his eyebrows rose in alarm. What? Why would she take Truffles and just _leave_? It didn’t make any sense… “Did she say anything about where she might be going?” he asked frantically. “Anything at all?”

“No,” Shale said bluntly. Upon seeing Alistair’s distressed expression, they added, “Perhaps it finally tired of the other Warden’s presence. I know I would leave were I in its position.”

Alistair glared at the golem. It wasn’t going to be of any use, and he didn’t have time to deal with its snide remarks. He gave a brief, somewhat bitter nod before heading back down the hall, ignoring whatever parting words Shale was throwing his way.

Running his hands through his hair, he let out a sigh of aggravation. Maker, where _was_ she? He kept searching the rooms of the estate for some clue as to her whereabouts, and only grew more concerned by the minute.

Eventually, he plopped himself down on the staircase, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t sort this out. He understood wanting to get away from the commotion of the Landsmeet; it had certainly been overwhelming for the both of them. What he couldn’t figure out, though, was why she would take her belonging and leave as Shale had described…Was there some truth to what the golem had suggested, after all? Was she really tired of him?

He shook his head restlessly, pushing that thought aside. No, that was ridiculous. Besides, whether or not she’d tired of him wasn’t what was bothering him right now; he just needed to ensure her safety.

“Trouble in paradise?” The gravelly voice of his dwarven companion pulled him out of his daydreaming and he snapped his neck up to look him in the eye.

Oghren stood before him, leaning against the wall with a bottle in his hand as he stared at him lazily.

Sighing, Alistair hung his head a bit as he muttered, “Manon’s gone. I can’t find her anywhere, and I have no idea why she left…”

The dwarf hummed thoughtfully, stroking his beard in contemplation as he thought this over. “Eh, it don’t make sense…I thought you two were all over each other…Then again, women never seem to make much sense to me.”

Alistair didn’t comment. He just continued to stare at the floor with intense focus.

A long silence stretched between them, long enough that Alistair thought maybe Oghren had left, but he soon spoke up again. “Do you love her or not?”

Confused, Alistair glanced up at the dwarf. “What?”

“I asked if you love her or not.” He was staring at Alistair with a largely unreadable expression, waiting for an answer.

Furrowing his brows, he responded, “Of course I do.”

“Then what in the Ancestors’ name are you sittin’ here mopin’ about for?” he growled in accusation. Startled, Alistair’s expression quickly turned perplexed. “She’s out there somewhere and you’re just gonna sit here and whine about it?”

Narrowing his eyes, Alistair retorted, “What do you expect me to do? I have no idea where she is – she could be _anywhere_.”

Oghren scoffed. “What a fine king you’ll make if this is all it takes to get you down.” Alistair opened his mouth to argue, but Oghren didn’t give him an inch. “If you really cared about her, you’d find a way. Searching for her in a city ain’t nothin’ compared to scouring the entire Deep Roads…For once in your life, why don’t you stop complaining like a boy and start acting like a man?”

He took a swig of his drink, staring down at Alistair judgmentally.

Frowning, Alistair returned his gaze to the space before him. Perhaps Oghren had a point…He _was_ worried for Manon; the fear had been eating away at him for the past hour. But what good was he to her if he was just going to sit here doing nothing? As difficult as it might be to find her, he should be out _there_ , searching. Even if he had to scour the entire city, ask every person he passed, he needed to _find_ her.

With newfound determination, he pushed himself to his feet and stared ahead with conviction. As he began walking away, a smile found its way onto Oghren’s face and he mumbled, “Good on ya, lad…” before disappearing down the hall.

Though Alistair had been motivated by Oghren’s words, by the time he reached the marketplace, he found himself at a loss for what to do. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted to find Manon; he still had no idea where to look.

Figuring that it was as good a place to start as any, he began by walking up to the first merchant he saw. He asked if they’d seen anyone matching her description, but the clerk only shook their head. He tried again with a few other shopkeepers, but none of them were any help. Truth be told, it was likely Manon had come through here, but the merchants were either too busy working to notice, or they _had_ seen her, but she didn’t leave enough of an impression for them to remember.

Feeling somewhat defeated, Alistair made his way over to a bench and slumped down. He tried not to let his discouragement get to him, but given his success so far, that was proving somewhat difficult.

At the sound of children laughing, his attention was pulled upwards. He noticed a pair of young boys giggling and running after a dog and despite his own misery, he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. As they ran across the courtyard, his eyes followed their path until his sights landed on something else. His smile dropped in favor of realization and he very nearly gasped.

They’d just run past the gates to the Alienage.

Letting out a frustrated groan, he slapped himself on the forehead. Maker, but he was daft! If there was anywhere she’d go, it would be back home to her family. And even if she wasn’t there, they’d certainly be helpful in locating her.

As his hopes rose once again, he found his feet carrying him across the marketplace before he even realized what he was doing.

He entered the Alienage somewhat hesitantly, crossing the bridge with mild trepidation. He had no qualms about being here, but couldn’t help feeling out of place, especially without Manon at his side. When their group had come here yesterday, it had been obvious that they weren’t exactly welcome, but had set his own discomfort aside for her sake. And now, here he was again; venturing outside his comfort zone for her. Always for her. Maker, was there anything he _wouldn’t_ do just to see her smile?

By the time he reached the tree in the center of the Alienage, a small wave of panic swept over him. He couldn’t remember where her house was. He began searching about frantically, trying to recall what it looked like…Oh, but they all looked the same! Why hadn’t he paid more attention?

When he spotted a woman standing on the opposite end of the clearing, he began to calm down a bit. He could just ask…no need to panic. Taking a deep, calming breath, he managed to compose himself a little before making his way over to her.

“Um…excuse me?” he asked cautiously.

The woman let out a small gasp of shock, very nearly dropping her broom. She gazed up at him warily, guarded against his presence. Gulping, he continued, “Could you, um…tell me where the Tabris household is?”

She was silent for a few moments, unsure whether to answer him or not, but after a while, gave a response. “It’s over there,” she said, pointing in the appropriate direction. “The one in the corner, behind the ladder.”

Relief swept over Alistair like a wave and he gave a reassured sigh. Smiling at the woman, he gave her his thanks before heading over to the house in question. He wasted no time knocking on the door, anticipation building within him. It was only a matter of minutes before the door opened and he was met with the face of Shianni.

She appeared surprised for all of a second before it was replaced with tempered anger. “You’re either really brave or really stupid to be showing up here.”

At her comment, he found himself growing perplexed. “I…what?”

“Don’t you _dare_ try to play innocent with me,” she growled, shoving an accusatory finger his way. “After what you did, you don’t deserve that luxury.”

What he did? What in the Maker’s name was she talking about? He was well aware Shianni hadn’t exactly been fond of him the first time, yet he had no idea why she was acting this way. “Uh…Come again?” he asked, his voice somewhat small and frightened.

Her glare intensified and her mouth pulled back in a snarl. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know that? It’s barely been a day since I talked with you, and you’ve _already_ managed to go against your word!”

“I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he insisted, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Oh, give me a break. She shows up here, on the verge of tears, saying that you don’t need her anymore, and you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with that?” she asked incredulously.

 _What?_ He was so stunned, he could barely process her words. Why would Manon think that? He hadn’t said something that would make her think that, had he? “I don’t understand…” he uttered softly, his confusion evident.

His words only seemed to make Shianni angrier. “She’s shut herself in the bedroom, and won’t even talk to me. I’ve barely managed to get a word out of her, but everything that I have heard has done nothing but implicate you.” Her eyes were filled with fury, her teeth gritting in hatred. “She said you were going to be King, and that an ‘elven lover would only be a nuisance.’ Your words, I take it?”

It felt like all of the air had been swept from Alistair’s chest.

Was that what she really thought? Maker – did she actually _believe_ he felt that way? Fear and worry wound their way around his throat, preventing him from speaking clearly.

“I-I never said that to her, I…”

“You really expect me to believe you?” she demanded.

“Shianni, you have to believe me…” he begged, staring desperately into her eyes. “I love Manon more than is likely reasonable. She means the world to me…I would _never_ abandon her, and I would _never_ call her a nuisance…”

“And yet she’s insisting that that’s the case,” Shianni said flatly, continuing to glare at him furiously.

He was silent for several moments, too stunned and grief-stricken to think of a proper response. He’d seen Manon’s self-doubt before; had clumsily comforted her to the best of his ability, but he had no idea how to fix this.

“Shianni…” he began again after a long moment of silence. “You’ve known Manon longer than me…Surely you must know how little she thinks of herself?”

Her expression softened somewhat, though she kept her guard up resolutely. “What’s your point?” she asked begrudgingly.

“Don’t you think it’s a _little_ likely that she assumed the worst and convinced herself into believing it?” At her silence, he continued, “I was made King at the Landsmeet, yes, but I didn’t even have a chance to speak with her before I found out she’d disappeared…This isn’t…I would never…” He let out a strained gasp, his gaze falling to the ground as he failed to keep his composure.

Shianni didn’t say anything. She stared at him with a slightly pained expression, but it was clear the anger had not left her face.

After a while of neither of them speaking, he eventually spoke in a hushed tone. “Please…just let me speak to her. I need to sort this out…If she really doesn’t want anything to do with me, then you can feed me my eyeballs or rip out my esophagus or whatever else you threatened to do…I just…” He met her gaze, his eyes desperate and on the verge of tears as he begged. “I just need to see her…”

She stared at him for a long time, indecision clear on her face, before she eventually gave a defeated sigh. “Oh, Maker…fine…” she muttered, but immediately followed up with, “Just don’t make me regret this. If I find out you’ve only made it worse-”

“Trust me,” Alistair said emphatically. “I want to avoid that just as much as you.”

Though she still seemed reluctant to do so, Shianni stepped aside and allowed him entry into the house.

As he stepped inside, he noticed that aside from a lone candle, the room was particularly dark and devoid of people. He surmised that Cyrion and Soris must have gone out for a bit, which he should probably be grateful for. It was enough of a problem handling Shianni’s wrath; he doubted he could face the other members of Manon’s family as well.

Wordlessly, Shianni pointed out which door was her bedroom before going to sit by the candle. Alistair gave an appreciative nod, slowly making his way across the room. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. Several moments passed, but after receiving no response, he decided to open the door.

The bedroom, much like the entry way, was rather dark, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he was first met with confusion. Shianni had said Manon shut herself in here, yet he couldn’t see any trace of her. That is, until his eyes landed on the sleeping form of a mabari sitting at the edge of the bottom bunk. The dog lifted his head to address the intruder, and upon seeing his familiar face, gave a whine of longing.

That was when the bundle of sheets moved slightly, and Alistair realized that Manon was huddled underneath them. She was almost completely covered, save for the small tuft of red hair that peeked out at the top.

He didn’t want to disturb her, though somehow he knew she wasn’t sleeping. Tentatively, he made his way over to the bed, but his presence was given away when one of the floorboards creaked.

“I’m sorry, Shianni, I’m not in the mood to talk,” she mumbled sadly from beneath the sheets.

Hearing her, so quiet and broken, Alistair could feel his heart aching for her. He’d seen her through some terrible things – held her as she wept softly, or listened to her as she divested herself of her emotions. Seeing her so lifeless, so devoid of hope, though…it tore at his heart. Even if he couldn’t win her back…he needed to do _something_ to set this right…

“Manon…” he uttered softly.

Upon hearing his voice, Manon instantly went still. He was here. No…no…This was the whole reason she’d run away in the first place. She was trying to distance herself from him. She couldn’t bear to hear his rejection in person – it would destroy her. Pulling the sheets over her head, she tucked herself into a ball and did her best to shut him out.

With a heavy sigh, Alistair came closer to the bed before sitting down on the edge of it. He was quiet for a while, not sure where to start, until he eventually said, “Manon? Would you please talk to me?”

She gave a small whimper, shifting her head against her pillow.

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, I can guarantee it’s not true…” When she didn’t answer, he gave another low sigh. “Manon, I love you…you know that, right?”

A small noise escaped her throat, though she pressed her hand against her mouth to muffle it out. Maker, no…she couldn’t listen to this…

Alistair stared down at the lump of sheets with a pained expression. How was he supposed to talk to her if she wouldn’t even acknowledge him? Though he had wanted to be respectful of her space, the situation demanded action. Without giving himself time to overthink things, he took the chance to pull the sheets back, exposing her to the room.

She gave a startled sound, instinctively curling in on herself and burying her face in her hands. She was cowering in fear, he realized with a stab of regret, though it was more so because of the impending conversation, and not because of him.

“Manon…” he pleaded, his voice cracking somewhat. “Please…look at me…”

“I can’t do this…” she whispered, still refusing to look at him. “I left so it would be easier on both of us…why do you insist on tormenting me like this?” Her voice was wracked with pain, and Alistair’s heart twisted in his chest.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, speaking at an equally hushed tone. His hands hesitated in mid-air. He longed to brush her hair out of her face or place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but he feared she would just flinch from his touch.

“Y-you…” Gasping, she suppressed a sob, pressing her cheek into the mattress. “You’re going to be King…and there’s no place for me in that life…”

Alistair had suspected this was how she felt, but hearing her say it aloud still caused him great distress. “That’s ridiculous,” he uttered gently.

“Is it? Is it really?” She dared a glance in his direction, her eyes brimming with tears. “You were chosen because of your Theirin blood…and after this mess with the civil war, they’re going to want an heir…” Her voice wavered and she let out a strangled choking sound as she attempted to subdue her tears. “An elf can’t give you that heir…What would the people say?” She gave a somber chuckle, her face twisting into a grimace. “Sooner or later, you’re going to have to find a Queen…And it…” The tears began to fall freely now as she stared ahead blankly. “It won’t be me…”

Not wasting any more time, Alistair pulled her up, cradling her against his chest. She made a sound of surprise, but didn’t fight against him. He held her to him tightly, running his hand along her back and ducked his head against her shoulder. Manon’s tears fell silently, though she refrained from returning his embrace. She didn’t want to allow herself this comfort, only to have it ripped away.

“I love you,” he whispered earnestly. “More than I ever thought possible. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s the only thing that matters.”

“That’s…” Manon let out a strained sigh, falling limp against his chest. “You say that now, but what about the people? They’re going to demand it of you eventually…and I…” Her breathing shuddered and she uttered softly, “I wouldn’t be able to take it…Leaving now will save both of us that grief…”

Alistair shook his head sadly, mussing her hair in the process. “If you really do want to end this…I won’t put it against you,” he uttered, his voice filled with remorse. “But if you’re only doing this because you _truly_ think I would actually abandon you?” Gently, he lifted her chin so that he could meet her gaze. “Then I will do everything in my power to prove you wrong.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut. “I want to believe you…but…”

Taking her face in his hands, he urged her to look into his eyes, which were on the verge of tears. “I said it once before, didn’t I?” he asked softly before pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “However many kisses, however many declarations of love…” A small sob escaped her throat and her face was plastered with pain. “I promise I will always be here for you…”

“B-But…you…” she stammered, struggling to keep her voice intelligible. “The Kingdom…”

“Damn them all,” he said, staring at her lovingly. She couldn’t help but release a small, wry laugh. “They’re the ones who gave me the crown, so they shouldn’t have any complaints as to what I do with it…” He took the chance to brush a wayward lock of hair from her face, staring at her reverently. “I’ll choose whomever I want to be with, and Manon Tabris, I choose _you_.”

She broke into a full sob at that, finally returning his embrace and burying her face against his chest. He hugged her even tighter, pressing a firm kiss to the crown of her head as he held her.

“I’ll never love another woman so long as you are in my life...” he continued. “I’ll never so much as _be_ with another woman. You’re the only one for me,” he explained adamantly. When she finally lifted her head to meet his gaze, he added softly, “If you’ll have me, that is.”

Manon sniffled, her face wet with tears. He wanted her. He really, truly, loved her, and had promised to be true only to her. It shouldn’t have been possible…and yet he had proven time and again just how many impossible things they could accomplish when they were together. A large smile finally broke out on her face and she nodded. “Yes,” she said at a whisper, before repeating slightly louder, “Yes!”

Her arms wrapped around his neck and she immediately pulled him in for a kiss, which he returned with fervor. He held her to him desperately, never wanting to let go.

They stayed together for Maker knows how long, reveling in the feeling of one another before they finally broke apart. Meeting one another’s gaze, Alistair smiled softly. “We should probably get going…Eamon has left for Redcliffe already…he set out earlier to meet the army that’s gathered there. As soon as we’re ready, we should head to Redcliffe ourselves.” He gave a crooked smile. “The Blight awaits, right?”

Manon returned his smile before giving an affirmative nod. Knowing that they were still going to be together after all this…it gave her the hope to continue. With him at her side, it felt like they could accomplish anything.


	30. A Necessary Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Manon learns of what is required to defeat the Archdemon, Morrigan offers her a way out. While facing an inner crisis, she is forced to make an impossible choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is the longest chapter to date, oops...)
> 
> The scene near the end is one that I’ve been thinking about for months now, and I made myself cry nearly every time. I get super emotional about Manon’s self-doubt, since it’s a trait I share with her, though it’s severely worse in her case. The matter of the dark ritual itself was something I struggled with for days trying to decide what to do. So in many ways her internal struggle was a reflection of my own. I was just so torn about the matter...
> 
> In any case, we’re almost at the end. Given how long this chapter ended up being, I still can’t properly predict how long the final battle will span. It will either end up being one long massive chapter, or will be split into two. I guess we’ll see what it comes to...

Manon wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or apprehensive at the number of darkspawn they found upon arriving in Redcliffe. They were numerous, to be sure, and taking them out was no easy task, but it wasn’t nearly as intense as she’d been anticipating. If the horde was truly headed here, they should have been overwhelmed. She hoped they had merely arrived ahead of the bulk of the horde and could take this chance to prepare properly.

They continued fighting their way to the castle, taking down several more darkspawn and an ogre in the process. By the time they’d cleared the castle courtyard, they were frantically met by one of the guards. They quickly explained the situation – apparently Riordan had arrived earlier that day with urgent news – before bringing Manon and her companions inside to speak with Eamon and Riordan.

“It is a relief to see you unharmed,” Riordan said by way of greeting. “And you as well, Alistair…Or should I say ‘Your Majesty’?”

Alistair’s gaze shifted to the side in mild discomfort. “Err…no. No, I wouldn’t say that…Not yet, anyway…” he mumbled with some reluctance.

Riordan didn’t pay much mind to his comment, instead opting to delve into the darkspawn threat. “The darkspawn that attacked Redcliffe were relatively few in number I’m afraid…It was assumed the horde was marching in this direction, but that is not true.”

“Riordan tells us that the bulk of the horde is in fact heading towards Denerim,” Eamon piped in. “They are perhaps two days away from the capital.”

 _Are you serious?_ Manon thought with exasperation. _But we were just there!_

“What? Are we sure about that?” Alistair asked gravely. “I mean, if that’s true…”

“I ventured close enough to ‘listen in’, as it were,” answered Riordan. “I am quite certain.”

“Why did we think they were heading here in the first place?” Manon questioned, doing her best to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“The darkspawn line is wide, and many of them roam away from the main horde. Until now, most of them have been spotted here in the west.”

“Not to mention that we’ve been too busy killing each other to pay much attention to some silly old darkspawn horde,” Alistair joined in with one of his typical sarcastic remarks.

A small beat of silence passed before Riordan moved to reveal more about their situation. “There is, I’m afraid, one other piece of news that is of even greater concern,” he said ominously as he made his way towards the fireplace. “The Archdemon has shown itself. The dragon is at the head of the horde.”

“Maker preserve us…” muttered Teagan.

“But we can’t reach Denerim within two days, can we? It’s too far,” Alistair said, pointing out the obvious.

“We must begin a forced march to the capital immediately with what we have,” Eamon insisted. “Denerim must be defended at all costs.

“Is it even possible to reach Denerim in two days?” Manon inquired.

“Perhaps not, but what is important is that we know where the Archdemon will be. If we do not defeat the Archdemon, it will not matter if Denerim is saved or the horde defeated…” Riordan said regretfully. “And only the Grey Wardens can defeat the Archdemon. That is why we must go.”

“Then we march,” Alistair declared with a sense of finality. “And hope the army we’ve collected here gives us the chance we need…Arl Eamon, how long before the army can set out?”

“By daybreak…” Eamon answered with some hesitation.

“Then let’s get them ready,” he continued, his mouth setting into a stern frown. “I won’t let all those people die without giving them a chance.”

Worrying her lower lip, Manon spoke up about her own concerns. “And just how are we supposed to defeat this Archdemon?”

“I was wondering that, myself…” Alistair muttered in agreement, glancing over to Manon.

A look of shock and concern passed across Riordan’s face. “Then…you don’t know?” He gave a small sigh. “Of course not. You are both new recruits. Duncan wouldn’t have expected…”

“I will give the orders at once, and will notify you the moment we are ready to march,” Eamon announced, glossing over Riordan’s hesitance.

“That _would_ be appreciated…” Alistair said with a measure of gratitude, though his voice was rather exhausted.

Riordan gave the Wardens a wary look before speaking with caution. “Perhaps you and Alistair should meet me before you retire for the evening. There are…things we need to speak of.”

Manon was a bit worried about what he might be talking about…it certainly didn’t sound good. And given everything she’d learned about the Grey Wardens thus far, things didn’t exactly bode well…Regardless, she followed Eamon’s servant to her assigned room, ignoring for the moment that she and Alistair had once again been given separate quarters. She dropped off her belongings for the time being, but was fully intent on reclaiming them later and joining Alistair in his bed. She’d had enough of Eamon trying to separate them.

She ventured down the hallway and found Alistair waiting outside Riordan’s room. He perked up upon seeing her and said, “There you are! Let’s go see what Riordan has to say, shall we?”

He held the door open for her and she nodded in appreciation before stepping inside.

Riordan looked up from his desk and immediately rose to meet them. He approached them slowly, a look of apology on his face as he spoke. “You’re both here…Please know, I assumed you had already been told. Otherwise, I would have told you this when you freed me in Denerim. I am sorry.”

“What is it?” Alistair made no attempt to hide the growing worry in his voice, his face scrunching up in concern. “What are you apologizing for?”

“Tell me…have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?”

“I have wondered that, yes…” Manon uttered hesitantly. She knew she was not going to like the answer.

“The Archdemon may be slain as any other darkspawn, but should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be enough…” Riordan explained carefully. “The essence of the beast will pass through the taint to the nearest darkspawn and will be reborn anew in that body. The dragon is thus all but immortal.” He paused but a moment before continuing. “But if the Archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden, its essence travels into the Grey Warden instead.”

Manon gulped. “And…what happens to the Grey Warden?” she asked in a small voice.

Riordan gave a low sigh before answering. “A darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel, but a Grey Warden is not…The essence of the Archdemon is destroyed…and so is the Grey Warden.”

Manon could feel her breath leave her in a short spurt. She remained silent, staring agape upon hearing Riordan’s revelation.

Though she was too shocked to speak, Alistair stepped forward to voice his thoughts aloud. “Meaning…the Grey Warden who kills the Archdemon…dies?” His voice grew very quiet near the end, turning into a whisper of disbelief.

“Yes,” Riordan answered simply. It was such a small word, but there was a clear amount of regret poured into it. “Without the Archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way.”

“Is…Is there no other way?” Manon croaked, looking at the senior Warden with pained eyes. “Must a Grey Warden die?”

He met her gaze with a look of sympathy. “As far as we know, the transfer of the Archdemon’s essence is automatic. If one of us is not present when the killing blow is made, it is all for nothing…There is no other way.” His mouth fell into a frown and he spoke sadly. “For what it’s worth…I’m sorry.”

Manon could only shake her head in distress, her attention drawn to the floor. After everything she’d done, after everything she’d sacrificed, one of them was _still_ going to die…

At her silence, Riordan continued. “In Blights past, when the time came, the eldest of the Grey Wardens would decide which amongst them would take that final blow. If possible, the final blow should be mine to make. I am the eldest and the taint will not spare me much longer…But if I fail, the deed falls on you. The Blight must be stopped now or it will destroy all of Ferelden before the rest of the Grey Wardens can assemble. Remember that.”

She knew. Maker, how she knew what their duty was…She was all too aware of their responsibility to the country and the threat of the darkspawn…But that did not change how bitter this news tasted. Nor did it make it any easier to swallow.

“But enough,” Riordan said with a dismissive gesture. “There will be much to do tomorrow and little enough time to rest before it. I will let you return to your rooms.”

Alistair gave a brief nod in response. “I will see you when the army is ready to march, then…” He glanced off to the side, his voice lowering as he spoke to himself. “I guess this ends soon…one way or another.”

“That it does, my friend,” Riordan echoed with remorse. “That it does.”

Manon watched Alistair’s back as he departed down the hall and let out a low, weary sigh. She would stop by her room to gather her things before joining him. If there was a chance their time together was going to be limited, she was determined to spend as much of it left with him as possible.

When she arrived in her room and found Morrigan standing before the fireplace, though, she was somewhat taken aback.

“Do not be alarmed,” she said calmly, her gaze fixed on the flames. “It is only I.”

“Morrigan?” Manon asked, mild uncertainty in her voice as she stepped into the room. “Is everything all right?”

“I am well. ‘Tis you who are in danger.” She turned around decisively to face Manon, a sly expression on her face. “I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole.”

Manon’s brows furrowed in confusion as Morrigan slowly approached her.

“I know what happens when the Archdemon dies,” she uttered with confidence, her words measured and precise. “I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed…and that sacrifice could be you. I have come to tell you that this does not need to be.”

“Does not need to be?” Riordan had seemed fairly insistent that there was no other option. “What do you mean?”

“I offer a way out. A way out for all the Grey Wardens, that there need be no sacrifice.” She paused momentarily, seemingly evaluating Manon’s expression before continuing carefully, “A ritual…performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night.”

Apprehension began welling in Manon’s throat. She didn’t like where this was going, but when she thought about what was to be expected of her…She decided it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear her out. “What sort of ritual are we talking about here?”

“It is old magic, from a time before the Circle of Magi was created,” Morrigan answered simply. “Some might call it blood magic, but that is but a name. There is far more to fear in this world than names.”

Manon gave a sharp intake of breath. Blood magic…why did it have to be blood magic? She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes in concentration as she worked to calm herself. If Alistair knew she was considering this, he’d be furious…But the thought of losing him was even worse. With this in mind, she allowed Morrigan to continue. “Just…tell me what you have in mind…”

She made her way over to Manon’s bed, taking a seat as she spoke. “What I propose is this: Convince Alistair to lay with me. Here, tonight. And from this ritual, a child shall be conceived within me.”

Manon’s mouth dropped to the ground and her eyes widened considerably. Her mouth grew dry and she let out a soft sound of distress, struggling to form proper words. Not giving her a chance to object, Morrigan kept talking in a careful, measured tone, “The child will bear the taint and when the Archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish…The Archdemon is still destroyed with no Grey Warden dying in the process.”

Manon stared at her slack-jawed, too stunned to process the words coming out of her mouth. Lay with Alistair? Bear a child? Taking in the essence of the Archdemon? “I…I don’t…” she stammered, turning her shocked gaze to the ground. “I don’t understand…What will happen to the child? Will it become a darkspawn?”

“Not at all,” Morrigan answered with a smile. “It will become something different. A child born with the soul of an Old God.” Her face grew somewhat more serious and she added, “After this is done, you allow me to walk away. And you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish.”

An Old God? Maker, but she didn’t understand what she was talking about…It all seemed so dark and foreboding… “Will the child be evil? What will it become?”

Morrigan seemed a bit exasperated, but answered calmly. “Allow me to say that what I seek is the essence of the Old God that once was, and not the dark forces that corrupted it. Some things are worth preserving in this world…Make of that what you will.”

“Will it…Will it be hurt?”

“Ignoring that after but one night, it could barely be _called_ a child, no, it will not be hurt. It will be changed,” she answered with some irritation.

“I…” Manon let out a shaky breath, tossing her head back and forth. “Why does it have to be Alistair? Why not Riordan?” Her eyes met Morrigan’s desperately. She had to understand how much she was asking of Manon.

“Even if I _thought_ Riordan would and could be convinced, he is unsuitable. I need one who has not been tainted for long. It _must_ be him and it _must_ be tonight,” she said insistently.

Manon looked at her with a pained expression. “You actually think Alistair will agree to this?”

“If you care for him, as you _seem_ to, you will convince him to.” Her stern voice turned slightly more compassionate and her expression softened a degree. “Consider what the alternative might be! Do you think Alistair will fail to do his duty as the future King and save his country? And if _you_ take the blow instead, he loses the woman he loves…How do you think he would feel about that?”

Manon held a hand against her chest as she stared at the floor, swallowing thickly. She knew how he would feel…Exactly as she would if Alistair were the one to lose his life. As pathetic as it might be, she could no longer imagine a life without him in it. When she left after the Landsmeet, she realized just how miserable she had been without him. To lose him entirely was unthinkable. And yet…to force him to sleep with Morrigan? He _hated_ her…Not to mention the discomfort that welled within Manon’s chest when she thought of him with another woman…

“I think you have many good reasons to tell him to save his own life. I think you should consider them carefully…”

“What if…” Manon glanced up at her briefly before returning her gaze to the floor. “What if Alistair wants to see the child?”

After his own childhood as a royal bastard, she doubted he would want to inflict that fate on his own child…

“I have no doubt he may, but he will not,” Morrigan answered curtly. “It is all I ask for in return.

It didn’t make her feel any better. She paced about nervously, panic worming its way around her throat. She couldn’t believe she was actually having this discussion. “How do we even know this ritual will work?”

“This is what my mother intended when she sent me with you,” Morrigan replied, as though she were speaking the obvious. “She was the one who first gave me this ritual and told me of what I was meant to do…This does not surprise you, does it?” she asked with a raised brow. “Did you not wonder why Flemeth saved your life? Why she aided you? This is why.”

 _What_? All at once, Manon stopped her pacing, staring at Morrigan with utter confusion.

It didn’t surprise her that Flemeth had some ulterior motive for their rescue, but she had been of the belief that they were saved for the purpose of defeating the Blight. Now that Morrigan had revealed this new piece of information, though, she found herself growing even more perplexed. It made sense as to why Alistair had been saved…given that he was needed for the ritual, but then why had Flemeth bothered saving Manon?

“What is important,” Morrigan continued, heedless of Manon’s distress, “is that I am offering this to you now. It _will_ work and it _will_ save your life.”

“I…” Manon squeezed her eyes shut in pain, her arms wrapping around her center. She was telling her so many things that she didn’t understand…and the whole idea of the ritual made her stomach churn. Just thinking of her being intimate with Alistair was enough to make her nauseous. And yet…she knew that if Riordan failed to kill the Archdemon, Alistair would not hesitate to sacrifice himself for her sake. She could not allow that to happen. She _couldn’t_.

With a heavy heart, she opened her eyes and spoke softly, her words carrying a sense of defeat. “I…will talk to him.”

“A wise decision,” Morrigan said, her eyes lighting up. “I shall wait here, then, while you go and speak with Alistair. I urge you to be convincing.”

Manon’s shoulders slumped forward and she gave a halfhearted nod before leaving the room. She dragged her feet as she made her way to Alistair’s room, dreading the impending conversation. Maker, but how was she supposed to get him to agree to this? She could barely convince herself, and she wasn’t even directly involved in it.

When she arrived at his door, she took a deep breath, hoping to gather her courage, before quietly knocking on his door. He called for her to come in and she did so, gently shutting the door behind her. She wrung her hands in front of her, her gaze focused on the side as Alistair turned his attention to her.

He took a few steps closer, giving her a warm smile. “I see you can’t sleep either.” His teasing tone was dropped momentarily as he brought up another topic of conversation. “I also saw Morrigan outside your room earlier, and the look she look she gave me…ooh, that was icy, even for her. Is something up?”

Manon was almost tempted to laugh. Nothing got past him, did it? Steeling herself, she gave a long sigh before forcing herself to meet his gaze. “Alistair,” she said softly. “We need to talk.”

“Oh,” he said, his face dropping with realization. “I guess whatever Morrigan had to say, it’s big. This is what I get for becoming King. Everyone always brings you the bad news…” Crossing his arms, he put on a brave face. “So what is it, then? Rats running amok? Cheese supplies run low? I can take it.”

“I love you. You know that, right?” she uttered earnestly, trying very hard to keep her emotions in check.

“Could you make it sound more ominous?” he asked with a smile. “Tell me, already.”

“I need you to do something you won’t like…”

His expression of happiness dropped at once, as did his tone of humor. “I don’t care for the sound of that. What are we talking about, exactly?”

Manon closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. She could do this. “I need you to take part in a magic ritual…”

“Oh! Something Morrigan cooked up, no doubt,” he said a small chuckle. “What do you need me to do?”

“You…need to sleep with her…” she uttered carefully, looking at him with a worried expression.”

He immediately let out a loud laugh, leaning against the bed post as he looked at her with amusement. “Cute. This is payback, right? For all the jokes?”

She stared at him sadly, remaining quiet. He searched her eyes, but when he found no trace of humor, his smile disappeared. “But…you’re not joking…” he said slowly as the realization dawned on him. “You’re actually serious?” He began pacing back and forth, his tone full of disbelief as he tried to comprehend what she was saying. “ _Wow_ …be killed by the Archdemon, or sleep with Morrigan. How does someone make that kind of choice?” His voice was breathless as he gave a nervous laugh. “You’re not…actually asking me this, are you? What kind of ritual is this, anyway?”

Manon bit down on her lip, flicking her gaze to the side as she hesitated. He wasn’t going to like this, she knew that…but she needed to tell him the truth. “I won’t lie to you…it will produce a child.”

“What?!” His face became a mix of bewilderment and disgust, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. He stared at her for an achingly long moment, as though he were still processing what she just said. “I…I must be hearing things, but are you telling me to _impregnate_ Morrigan in some kind of magical sex rite?!”

Manon winced at his tone of voice. Maker, but it sounded even worse when he phrased it like that…

“This…this child,” he stammered, distraught. “Why would Morrigan want such a thing? Does she want an heir to the throne?”

“She…said something about taking the essence of an Old God?” Manon squeaked out, glancing up at him warily.

 Alistair threw up his hands and shouted his exasperation at the ceiling. “ _Oh._ Well, that’s so much _better_ , don’t you think?! Here I was, worried about creating another bastard heir, and I didn’t even _consider_ that it also might be some…dragon… _god_ …whatever…” His voice was pitched high, the anger and confusion making itself known.

As he paced about restlessly, muttering to himself, Manon slowly made her way over to the bed. Sitting down on the edge, she pulled her knees to her chest and tucked her chin down. She didn’t know how to handle this…She should have known she wouldn’t be able to convince him.

He let out a groan of annoyance, exhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself. “Look,” he said, turning to face her. “Even if I was willing to entertain this idea – and I’m not saying I am – Is this really what you want me to do? Are you _sure_?”

She looked up to meet his eyes before mumbling softly, “I don’t _want_ you to do it…Maker, I can barely stand the thought…I’d do it myself if I could.”

A low sigh escaped his throat and he shook his head incredulously before taking a seat next to her. “Oh, great…Of all the times to regret being a man,” he muttered under his breath. “Look, just because I have the proper, uh…Just because I can…” He let out a frustrated noise, seemingly incapable of getting this sentence out without tying his tongue in knots. “Look, that doesn’t make this a good idea.”

“I know…” she whispered regretfully before burying her face in her knees. “It’s a terrible idea, but I… _Alistair_ , I can’t lose you.” She looked up to meet his gaze, tears welling in her eyes. “We can’t know what will happen in Denerim…If Riordan fails…” A small hiccup escaped her and she looked away, her courage failing her. “I won’t let you sacrifice yourself…And I don’t want to die, either. I want to live… with _you,_ but…if it came down to it…”

He looked at her fiercely, and spoke with a low, serious tone. “No. You are not going to give your life for this.”

She turned her gaze to him, her large, grey eyes full of sorrow. “You’re going to be King, Alistair…The people need you. Me?” She gave a soft, somber chuckle. “I’m nothing.”

Alistair placed his hands on her shoulders and shook his head with determination. “You’re wrong. I have never met anyone like you before. You’re brave, compassionate, resourceful, and you’ve overcome everything the world has thrown at you…I’m a better man for having met you, Manon…And I love you too much to let you take that final blow.”

She smiled wanly at him, her eyes weak and pained. “I will do everything in my power to keep you from that dragon, Alistair…I want to protect you as much as you want to protect me.”

He let out a heavy sigh, running his hands through his hair in aggravation. After a long period of silence, he asked quietly, “Do you really trust Morrigan about this?”

“I’m…not sure I’d say that…but what choice do we have?”

He met her gaze for a long moment before releasing a loud groan. “Ugh…I can’t believe I’m doing this…Where is she? Let’s go and get this over with before I…change my mind…”

Manon was surprised she’d managed to convince him, but she didn’t waste any time overthinking it. Without another word, the two rose from the bed and made their way back to Manon’s room.

“’T’would seem your talk is done,” Morrigan observed.

“Great…” Alistair drawled unenthusiastically. “So this isn’t a dream, after all.”

“What is it to be, then?” she continued, ignoring Alistair’s lack of eagerness. “Has a decision been reached?”

Manon bit down on her lip before asking, “I’m sorry, Morrigan…Isn’t there any other way?”

“No. There is no other way.”

Alistair let out a discouraged sigh, trying to come to terms with what he was about to do. “You know, dinner would have been nice…maybe a bit of wine. Or you could knock me out first…” he offered hopefully.

“Tempting,” Morrigan said with an inclination of her head. “Still, I am glad to see that it has been done.” Any distaste in her expression soon vanished in favor of sultry appraisal and her voice grew strangely inviting. “Let us go somewhere more private, Alistair. And believe me when I say, you will not _hate_ this quite so much as you believe…”

She sauntered out of the room, giving Manon and Alistair but a brief moment of solitude. Alistair shook his head in grief, his expression tormented as he gradually turned to Manon. She looked up at him with an equally pained expression. They stared into one another’s eyes for an achingly long time before Alistair turned away regretfully and followed Morrigan out the door.

Manon’s head hung and a soft sound of remorse escaped her throat. Slowly, she made her way over to a chair by the fireplace and curled up in it.

Maker help her, but she couldn’t stop thinking about all the things Morrigan had told her…She still didn’t understand why Flemeth had saved her life. There was no conceivable way she would have been able to partake in the ritual, so why did she go to the trouble? Was it just convenient to save her, or did Flemeth know more than she let on? Did she somehow predict that she and Alistair would grow close and believed that Manon could be used as a bartering tool? Neither option comforted her in the slightest.

She tried incredibly hard not to think about what Morrigan and Alistair were doing just a few rooms away, yet her mind was constantly roaming back to it. Why were they taking so long? Shouldn’t it be over and done with by now? Maker, was…was Alistair actually enjoying it? The idea was preposterous – he hated the woman, after all, but the way she had looked at him when they left…

A small sob escaped her and she pressed her hand to her mouth. She shouldn’t be doubting him like this…not after everything he had done for her…Especially after _she_ was the one to force him into this…But no matter how hard she tried, the thoughts remained. Morrigan was beautiful…she was _human_. What if tumbling into bed was all it took for him to realize his attraction to her?

 _Stop it!_ Tears leaked from her eyes as she pressed them into the heels of her hands. _He loves you!_

The man was probably miserable right now…And yet all she could think about was herself. She wasn’t good enough, she wasn’t desirable enough…Despite all her efforts to rid these toxic thoughts from her mind, it was no use. They assaulted her constantly and without warning; particularly when she was left alone like this. Against her volition, she began crying openly, the sorrow becoming overwhelming.

It wasn’t fair. He’d finally, _finally_ shown that he would dedicate himself to none but her, and now he was being forced to violate that promise. She hated the Wardens…she hated their situation…but above all else, she hated herself.

Eventually, a soft knock could be heard on the door, though Manon didn’t respond. Alistair entered a moment later, softly shutting the door behind him. He looked around in confusion for a moment before approaching her chair and rounding it to crouch in front of her. “Manon?” he asked quietly, but stopped when he saw her face. Tears were still streaming down her cheeks and her expression was one of utter misery. He let out a curse under his breath.

In one swift motion, he moved himself into the seat, shifting her onto his lap in the process. Cradling her to his chest, he did his best to soothe her. “I knew this was a bad idea…” he uttered bitterly. “Maker, I’m so sorry…”

“No…” she whimpered, trying to get her breathing under control. “This is my fault…I’m the one who made you do it…”

“And I’m the one who agreed. But I should have realized how this would make you feel…” He ran his hand along her spine, making a sound of frustration at his own ineptitude.

“I’m just…Maker, I’m so selfish!” Manon bawled with irritation. “I make you King to try and change my people’s future, then cry about how I don’t deserve you…I force you to sleep with the woman you hate, then wallow in my own self-pity about how you’re not being loyal…” A strangled choking sound left her throat and she shook her head in exasperation. “I’m _tired_ of feeling this way…Of constantly feeling this self-deprecation, but these thoughts won’t _leave me_.” She ducked her head against his chest, the sobs wracking her body.

He clutched her tighter, breathing deeply through his nose. “I know…” he uttered softly. “For what it’s worth…I don’t hold this against you. As awful as it was, at least I have the comfort of knowing that it may have saved your life…”

“Maker…” she whispered, straining her neck to look up at him. “Are you all right?”

He gave a shake of his head to dissuade her worries. “It wasn’t…the _worst_ thing I’ve ever done, but I did have to scrub longer than usual…”

It was then that Manon noticed just how red his skin was; it was likely rubbed raw from his efforts to clean himself. A new wave of guilt pulsed within her and she felt disgusted with herself. How could she force him to do such a thing?

“But don’t worry yourself over that,” Alistair insisted, standing from the chair with her still in his arms. “I’d much rather focus on you right now.” He offered her a lopsided smile, attempting to be seductive even in their current situation. “Perhaps you could…help me forget about her?”

Despite the overwhelming heartache she’d been suffering from moments before, his flirtations managed to pull a sincere smile from her. With a teary-eyed nod, she gave her approval and he wasted no time taking her to bed.

They spent the rest of the night reminding one another just how deeply they were loved.


	31. The Final Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manon and her party set course for Denerim, determined to defeat the Blight once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up splitting the finale in two after all...I’m hoping to finish the final chapter soon, but given that I’m working on a bunch of school projects and going on vacation next week, I can’t say for certain when it’ll be up.
> 
> Thank you for bearing with me!

They set course for Denerim at dawn.

Word had been sent to the factions of the army, informing them of the situation and ordering that they head to the capital as fast as possible. Based on the locations of their allies, it was likely the Dalish would be the first to reach the city, so it was possible there was at least some hope for Denerim. The citizens had also been instructed to evacuate, though whether they could do so before the horde arrived was yet to be determined.

They pressed forward, marching for the capital at a speed that greatly surpassed what Manon and her travelling companions had been used to. At the very least, they were permitted to ride in the supply caravans every so often to get a break from the weary journey.

Travel from Redcliffe to Denerim normally took fifteen days on foot, but at the pace they were setting, they were due to reach the city in less than seven. However, as great as their speed was, there was no way they would be able to intercept the horde in time. The darkspawn would have at least a few days advantage on them, and there was no telling how much damage they would do in that amount of time.

When Eamon’s forces finally crested the hill that looked out over Denerim, there was an intense foreboding aura that permeated the air. The sky had been tainted red from all the smoke and fire setting the city ablaze. The sounds of battle could be heard even from their position, and off in the distance, the shape of a dragon could be seen circling the city, its far-off screeches sharp and piercing.

The army came to a halt, waiting for further instructions before charging into battle. Sharing a nod with Manon, Alistair came to the front of the lines, making his way to a nearby platform to address the troops. All eyes were trained on him as he spoke to them.

“Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde!” he declared loudly, his voice filled with fierce determination. “Gaze upon them now, but fear them not!”

Manon slowly came to stand beside the platform, looking up at him. He spoke with such confidence, such enthusiasm, that she couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

“The woman you see beside me is an elf,” he continued adamantly, gesturing in her direction. “Raised to the ranks of the Grey Wardens! And never a more glorious Grey Warden has there been!” He spoke passionately, his expression firm and decisive as he spoke of her honor.

Though she was intimidated by all the eyes focused on her, Manon gradually made her way to Alistair’s side, standing before the bulk of their army.

“She has survived despite the odds and without her, _none_ of us would be here!” He glared at the crowd resolutely, pausing dramatically to ensure his point was made. Keeping his gaze trained on the army, he slowly retreated down the steps, continuing his speech with conviction. “Today, we save Denerim! Today, we avenge the death of my brother, King Cailan!”

His words were clearly having their intended effect; every face in the crowd was filled with intense motivation. Some nodded their heads in ardent agreement while others reached for their weapons, eager to charge into battle.

“But most of all, today we show the Grey Wardens that we remember and honor their sacrifice!” he shouted with a powerful voice.

Earnest cries could be heard from throughout the ranks, every soul ready to charge.

“FOR FERELDEN!” Alistair hollered, pointing dramatically in the direction of the city. “FOR THE GREY WARDEEEENS!!!”

Inspired by his words, the army let out a chorus of battle cries before taking off towards the city. Manon watched as dozens of men and women rushed forward, the individuals nearly indiscernible from the mass that poured down the hill.

Manon and her companions had been instructed to remain with the rear guard. The front lines would fight their way into the city, taking out as much of their enemy as possible and clearing them a path inside. She knew it was a sound strategy and a necessary tactic, but she couldn’t help feeling guilty about the people risking their lives for her sake.

They followed the tail end of the troops, rushing through the gates before stuttering to a halt. Most of the darkspawn near the entrance had been eliminated, thankfully, but a significant number still remained. At the very least, they were well prepared. With the number of allies she commanded, as well as the numerous quivers of bolts she’d adorned beforehand, they were equipped enough to gradually whittle the enemy down.

Eventually, they managed to clear out the darkspawn from the city’s entrance, and with the army guarding the entrance, they were safe…for the moment, at least. Spotting Riordan amongst the crowd, Manon rushed over to his side, with her companions following suit.

“You’ve managed to fight your way to the gates…” he observed, slightly out of breath. “We’re doing better than I hoped.

“Bloody nug-runners!” Oghren spouted with exasperation. “We’re outnumbered three to one!”

“What are we to do, Riordan?” Wynne asked calmly; her demeanor a stark contrast to Oghren’s frantic shouting. “You have a plan, I assume?”

“The army will not last long, so we need to move quickly to reach the Archdemon…” he said, glancing behind them to see several soldiers running inside. “I suggest taking Alistair and no more than two others with you into the city. Anyone else can remain here to prevent more darkspawn from entering Denerim on our tails.”

“Well…” Manon panted. “Any suggestions?” It was one thing to talk about killing the Archdemon and another entirely to go about actually doing it.

“We’re going to need to reach a high point in the city…I’m thinking the top of Fort Drakon might work…”

“The top of-?” Alistair asked with mild bewilderment. “Y-You want to _draw_ the dragon’s attention?”

“We have little choice,” he answered simply. “Though I warn you that as soon as we engage the beast, it will call all its generals to help it…I can sense two generals in Denerim. You may wish to seek them out before going to Fort Drakon.”

Manon gave a nod of acknowledgment. “I understand.”

“Very well…Who will you be bringing into the city?”

This was something Manon had decided on back before they’d even decided to march. Though Riordan was adamant that she bring Alistair with her, that was the one point on which she would not budge. There was no telling if Morrigan’s ritual would actually work, and she knew that if it didn’t, Alistair would not hesitate to sacrifice himself for her. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Not to mention that there was no guarantee they would even reach the Archdemon…Any number of things could happen within the city’s walls and she wanted to protect him to the best of her ability.

“Morrigan, Wynne, and Shale.”

“Fair enough,” Riordan answered. “Anyone else will need to remain here and assist in keeping more darkspawn from coming in the gates behind us. Who will lead them?”

“Alistair can,” she responded without hesitation.

“I’d rather be going after the Archdemon…” Alistair muttered reluctantly, “but all right…”

“Good. That should be sufficient,” Riordan said before a slight look of worry worked its way into his expression. “Nothing you have done had prepared you for what you face now…May the Maker watch over you.” He gave her a nod of farewell before heading into the city.

“Well, this is it, Warden…” Oghren muttered in his low, rough voice. “’When from the blood of battle the Stone has fed, let the heroes prevail and the blighters lie dead.’ As one of the blighters, I sodding salute you. Let’s show them our hearts and then show them theirs.” He looked at her with steadfast determination, offering a hearty chuckle that she couldn’t help but return.

As he walked off to the side, Shale made their way over to Manon. “So the Archdemon is next, is it? I would not have thought I would say this, but…I am glad to be going with it. Perhaps we are not completely doomed.”

Manon smiled widely at the golem. From her time with them, this was about as close to praise as she was going to get. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I would,” they said with a sigh. “But I suppose there are certain obligations that go along with having a squishy companion made out of flesh. Let us try to get through this without my being rendered into so many pulverized pebbles, yes?” They made an expression that seemed similar to a wince. “Or _eaten_ by the dragon! It might give ‘passing a stone’ all new meaning, but I don’t want to be there for it…”

Manon laughed out loud at that. Oh, what a mental image that made for…

“Ah, well. Enough talking. There is a burning city to invade…or something…” they muttered with disinterest as they walked off.

The golem’s departure was soon followed by Wynne’s soothing voice. “So this is it then. All that we’ve been through has led up to this…” she noted in calm observation, staring at the gates of the city before slowly turning her gaze to Manon. “Whatever happens now…to either of us, know that I am proud – infinitely proud – to have called you friend.” She offered Manon a gentle smile, and Manon found herself gradually welling up with emotion. “Onward then, and may the Maker smile fortune upon us.”

Morrigan was next in line to approach Manon. “So we head into the city together. As it should be.” She took a moment to pause, her watchful gaze appraising Manon before continuing, “Once this is done, no matter how it turns out, I will be gone. You are aware of this, yes?”

Manon was overcome with a multitude of conflicting emotions. She had considered Morrigan a dear friend, and if her ritual truly worked, she knew she would be eternally grateful to her, but she couldn’t help feeling somewhat bitter about her actions in Redcliffe. “I’m aware,” she answered simply.

Morrigan gave a low, seemingly regretful sigh. “Allow me to say only one thing before we go…” Her gaze flitted back and forth, hesitation in her expression as she worked to find the proper words. “I knew nothing of friendship before we met…And I will always consider you such.” Her face grew somewhat pained, and any grudge Manon had against her was soon forgotten. “Live well, my friend. Live gloriously.”

Manon couldn’t help herself. She rushed forward, pulling Morrigan into a tight embrace. “I’ll miss you,” she uttered softly, trying very hard to keep from losing it.

Morrigan seemed slightly taken aback by the gesture, but as she had done when presented with Manon’s affections in the past, she gradually allowed herself to relax and return the hug. Her motions were somewhat stiff and awkward, but no less sincere. When they parted a moment later, she worked to regain her composure. “Now…let us see this finally done. The Archdemon awaits.”

A small whine of worry was heard at Manon’s side and she glanced down to find Truffles slowly padding up to her. His ears were drooped down and he looked up at her with wide, sad eyes.

Crouching down beside him, Manon spoke to the dog in a soft voice. “I can’t have you coming with me, it’s too dangerous…” He gave a whine of protest, but she continued. “I need you out here, protecting Alistair. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

He seemed to perk up a bit, and gave a happy bark, wagging his tail excitedly. As Manon watched him run off to Oghren’s side, a familiar rich voice could be heard from behind her.

“So I’m not going with you, I see. Any particular reason?”

She let out a sigh before turning to face him. She knew he’d object to this decision, but she couldn’t risk bringing him with her. “You’re going to be King. You belong out here with your men.”

“Where I belong is in there, with you. As a Grey Warden,” he responded adamantly.

“I’m not going to risk you getting hurt, Alistair,” she said, meeting his gaze with a pained expression.

Frustration worked its way into his voice and his brows drew together in indignation. “And you think I want you going in there and fighting that thing without me? Ritual or no ritual, that’s a dragon!”

Manon pressed her lips together firmly, desperate to keep the tears at bay. She would not budge on this. No matter what happened today, she would ensure Alistair survived.

A few moments of silence passed before he let out a sigh of defeat. “But there’s no use in arguing about it, is there? We don’t have time and…” He exhaled deeply, mild amusement laced in his words. “You are a stubborn, stubborn woman.”

“That I am,” she returned with a wry, but proud smile.

He chuckled before taking a step closer and gently grasping her hands in his. “I guess this is the last chance we’ll get…” he lamented quietly, “before this is finished…one way or another. Be careful in there.”  

She squeezed his hands in assurance as the tears began to pool in her eyes. “I love you, Alistair…” she murmured softly.

He reached forward to cup her cheek in his gauntleted hand. “And I love you,” he whispered reverently. “ _Always_.”

The tears broke free then and she leapt forward, throwing herself into his arms. He stumbled back only a bit, immediately pulling her close. She captured his mouth with desperation, her eyes screwed shut with pain as the tears streamed down her face. He held her tightly, practically crushing her against his chest as he met her lips passionately. They each poured all they had into the kiss; neither one knowing what was to come. If this truly was going to be the last they saw of each other, they were damned well going to make it count.

When they parted, their teary eyes locked on one another sadly. He held her close for a moment longer, somehow working out a smile as he said, “Now come back safely. Or I’ll be very cross with you.”

She managed a nod in return, the tears threatening to return with a vengeance. Regretfully, she worked herself out of his embrace. She knew if she didn’t leave now, she’d never be able to. As Manon joined her companions at the gate, she spared but a glance over her shoulder before turning back to the city. Releasing a heavy sigh, she urged her friends to carry onward.

\------

The Marketplace was swarming with darkspawn; ogres in particular. Manon had never seen so many gathered in one place before, not even in the Deep Roads. The massive beasts were always a challenge on their own, so to see so many grouped together was incredibly distressing. On the bright side, many members of the army had already gathered in the Market and were doing their part to fight the creatures. Manon counted several dwarves and a few mages among them, and was incredibly grateful for their presence.

She made use of several of her special bolts, including the incendiary and explosive ones, but tried to keep her use of them to a minimum. As effective as they were, unlike her regular bolts, she could not retrieve them after their use.

Despite how overwhelmed she’d felt when they first entered the Marketplace, with the help of her allies, they were gradually able to fell the creatures and regain some control over the battle. Amidst all the ogres, she spotted a large hurlock bearing a horned helmet and an enormous axe. Her nose scrunched up with distaste; she could feel a particularly nasty aura exuding from the monster. More than likely, it was one of the generals of which Riordan spoke.

With precision, she loaded a knockback bolt into her crossbow before aiming and firing at the darkspawn. Living up to its name, the bolt sent the creature flying back several feet, where it toppled to the ground. Before it had the chance to right itself, Shale rushed in, pounding away at it with their massive stone fists. They were soon joined by a pair of dwarven warriors, whose melee skills were able to make quick work of the creature.

By the time they’d defeated the general, the Marketplace had, for the most part, been emptied of darkspawn; at least long enough for them to safely venture to the next area. Doing her best to ignore the burning buildings and screams of terror, Manon pushed forward. The sooner they dealt with the Archdemon, the sooner the city would be saved.

She and her party headed across the bridge to the Alienage next. It wasn’t the most direct route to Fort Drakon, but they didn’t have any options that didn’t involve backtracking…And if she was being honest with herself, she wanted to ensure her family’s safety. She prayed they had managed to evacuate, but there was no telling if that was even possible…

When they arrived in the courtyard, though, and she spotted Shianni standing with a bow in her hand, her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. No…why were they still here? Hadn’t they been told to flee?

Shianni took notice of her soon enough, and her shock mirrored that of Manon’s . “Cousin…?” Her surprise soon transitioned into excitement and she practically bounced on her feet. “Oh, am I glad to see you! The Alienage is under attack! There’s a large group of darkspawn approaching and the gates won’t hold! We need your help!”

Oh, Maker, no…

By the looks of it, the elves had barricaded themselves inside the Alienage, but even from where she stood, she could see the ogre pounding away at their makeshift barrier. The wood was beginning to creak and splinter and before long, they would be through.

And where had Shianni even gotten that bow in the first place? It was possible some of the other elves had hidden weapons like Adaia was prone to doing, but what was Shianni thinking trying to use one? She didn’t know how to fight! And if that wasn’t dangerous enough already, there was the added threat of the Blight disease the darkspawn carried. Didn’t she know how much she was risking just by being here?

“We’ll handle this!” Manon shouted at her urgently. “Get yourselves to safety!”

“No!” Shianni answered adamantly. “This is my home as much as it is yours! If you’re going to fight, then I will too!”

“We’re with you!” the elf next to her echoed.

It seemed like most of the elves who’d held a grudge against her had now changed their minds on that matter, but she didn’t care about that now. They were going to get themselves killed if they insisted on this foolishness.

“No, I can’t ask this of you!” Manon told her desperately. “Go! Run!”

Shianni seemed to falter momentarily and asked, “Do you want to come with us…? We could try-”

A loud growl could be heard from the barricade then, and the wood which had already begun to splinter was now cracking in half.

Shianni froze where she stood, horror working its way into her expression. Any bravery she’d been feeling a moment before was now gone in the face of the actual threat of the darkspawn.

“They’re breaking through!” one of the elves cried.

That seemed to break Shianni from her spell. Gripping the bow in her hand shakily, she turned to the elves that had gathered and shouted worriedly, “Run! All of you! Run for your lives!”

Everyone looked up in surprise, but another menacing growl from the other side of the gates prompted them to follow her advice. They fled in the direction Manon had come from and Manon readied herself for battle. No matter how large of a force was coming, she was prepared to defend her home. If she could funnel them through the entrance, there was a chance they could keep the upper hand.

The ogre smashed its fists against the gate once more and with a mighty crack, the wood split in two. It took one of the slats in its massive hands, tossing it to the side as it tore through the barricade. Morrigan and Wynne immediately began assaulting it with a barrage of offensive spells, knocking it onto its back. Its large body managed to block most of the entrance, but several darkspawn still wove their way around it, streaming inside. Manon picked as many off as she could, but it wasn’t long before they threatened to be overwhelmed.

Thankfully, her allies had the fortune of good timing. A large contingent of dwarven warriors had followed their path from the Marketplace, with several Dalish joining the fray. With their combined numbers, they soon began to beat down the darkspawn until only a few remained.

Just as things were staring to look in their favor, though, a large streak of lightning shot across the battlefield, belonging to neither Wynne nor Morrigan. Manon’s head whipped to the side to see that it had come from a powerful emissary. It was likely the other general that Riordan had spoken of. Manon tried to help take it down, but most of her attention was focused on keeping the other darkspawn at bay. If she took her eyes off of them for too long, they risked being taken by surprise.

After a decent amount of time, though, the darkspawn ceased coming from the bridge, and with only one enemy remaining, everyone’s combined power was enough to take the general down.

Manon rested her hands on her knees, panting heavily as she struggled to regain her breath. It had taken a significant amount of time and manpower to beat off the wave of darkspawn, but she was just glad to have been able to save her home.

“You did it!” Upon hearing Shianni’s excited voice, Manon looked up to see her cousin running eagerly towards her. “I…I didn’t think it was possible!” She was wearing a wide grin and looking at Manon with amazed disbelief. “You’ve come through for me again. For all of us. We will never forget this…I’ll make sure we never forget this.”

Manon couldn’t help but smile at her. “You were supposed to leave…I have to keep moving, but _please_ tell me you’ll actually get to safety this time?”

Shianni grinned at her impishly. “I couldn’t just _leave_ you here all alone…but I hear you. We’ll get going now. May the Maker watch over you, Manon.”

Manon watched her cousin and neighbors depart and let out a sigh of relief. Her family was safe. Now she just needed to kill the Archdemon and ensure they lived to meet another day.


	32. All Things Come to an End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a battle that will determine the fate of all of Ferelden, Manon uses everything at her disposal to strike at the Archdemon and bring an end to the Fifth Blight.

Riordan was dead.

When Manon had seen someone jump off of a tall tower and leap onto the Archdemon’s back, she hadn’t recognized him at first. She was more shocked that someone would even attempt the feat – they were either really brave or really stupid.

But then she realized who it must have been. He’d made the promise to finish the Archdemon for them, after all.

The enormous dragon flew higher and higher, trying to throw the Warden off its back, but it was clearly struggling. Riordan had to have damaged it at least a little. Its claws reached at its neck, trying to rip off its unwanted rider, but unable to reach him. It dove down lower, still trying to throw him off, but he was surprisingly able to keep his grip.

That changed when the dragon flew upwards, its angle nearly vertical as it ascended ever higher. Riordan’s blade could hold on no longer. As gravity worked against his favor, his sword slid down the Archdemon’s wing and it let out a cry of pain. His blade sliced through the rest of the wing, and with no purchase left to hang on to, he plummeted to the ground.

At the very least, his efforts had managed to greatly wound the Archdemon. Shortly after his fall, the beast had begun flapping its wings desperately, trying to keep itself aloft. In the end, it had to resort to landing on the top of Fort Drakon, just like they’d been planning all along. Though he had ended up giving is life, Riordan’s sacrifice was not entirely in vain. With the dragon landed, they at least had a better chance of defeating it now.

That didn’t stop the wave of regret that pulsed through Manon with the realization, though. Had she not agreed to Morrigan’s ritual, she would now be in a position where she would have to sacrifice her life to defeat the Archdemon…And if the ritual didn’t actually work, then that would still be the case.

Not to mention there was the overwhelming guilt that afflicted her for considering the senior Warden so expendable…She had tried to rationalize it by saying that he’d volunteered, that his time was nearly up anyway, but it didn’t change the fact that she’d prioritized her and Alistair’s livelihoods above his own.

Regardless, there was nothing she could do now. He was dead. All she could do now was press forward and pray that Morrigan’s plan followed through.

\------

Fighting their way through the palace district, Manon’s party encountered darkspawn at every turn. Their forces were a great aid, but even with their help, they were still exerting a large amount of effort to force their way through. Manon’s bolt supply was running low, which was disconcerting to say the least. She retrieved as many of the normal bolts as was possible, but the amount of specialized bolts she now carried was much sparser. She could only hope it didn’t dwindle too much more before they reached the Archdemon.

After making their way through the massive forces surrounding Fort Drakon, they gradually fought their way through the tower proper. Dozens upon dozens of darkspawn occupied the fort, standing between them and their goal. Somehow or other, they managed to keep pressing forward. As they neared the top, the sounds of battle could be heard from the roof; the walls shaking from the forces above.

When they finally reached the top, they rushed through the doors into the open air, the screams of combat ringing out loudly. A large portion of Eamon’s forces has gathered on the roof and were currently engaging the Archdemon in battle.  The massive dragon let out a snarl and swung its tail, knocking ten men off their feet.

Archers fired arrows at the beast, though even the ones that met their mark were flimsy and didn’t seem to do much damage. They only proved to agitate the Archdemon further. It reared back with a cry before coming down hard, striking a huge claw against the archers. Several of the soldiers who’d gotten within range began to backtrack, but it quickly snatched one of them in its jaws. The man let out a cry of agony before the crunch of his spine silenced him for good. The Archdemon flung him to the side, bringing its enormous foot down upon an unfortunate soldier who’d been trying to crawl away, and breathed out a stream of harsh purple fire.

Manon stood stock-still, uncertain how to approach the situation. It was a _dragon_ , for fuck’s sake. And it was _huge_. She’d seen it in the Deep Roads in person, but that had been from a distance…And seeing how little damage the army was doing at the moment didn’t exactly give her hope that she’d fare much better.

The dragon let out another ear-splitting roar, baring its fangs menacingly at everyone gathered around it. Its eyes trained on her then and her heart ceased to beat.

A small moment of silence passed between them before the Archdemon lowered its head and released a loud, grating screech. Manon couldn’t help but cover her ears in response. At this distance, it was nearly impossible to bear the sound. It was entirely likely that if the noise went on for too long, her ears might start to bleed.

She didn’t dawdle for long, though. The Archdemon moved as if to pounce in their direction, but she was quick to direct her group out of harm’s way.

“Move!” she yelled frantically as she sprinted to the other side of the open space.

They had no objections on the matter, and followed close on her heel, just barely avoiding the dragon’s fiery breath.

It landed where they had stood moments before, the force of the impact nearly making them lose their footing. Shale took the chance to rush the dragon, and several of the Redcliffe soldiers followed. Morrigan and Wynne began assaulting the Archdemon with spells from a distance, and it let out another great cry, attempting to back away from the onslaught. Manon reached into one of her quivers, loading her crossbow with an explosive bolt. She fired them in rapid succession, and though the Archdemon flinched every time it was hit, it was clear the damage being done was minimal. She didn’t have enough specialized bolts to waste and seeing what progress she was making now, she knew her typical bolts wouldn’t fare much better.

Changing tactics, she looked about hurriedly. This was a fort…there had to be defensive weapons she could utilize somewhere…

Her eyes landed on a ballista, then. Instantly, she was struck with an idea. Though she’d never operated such a massive device before, she decided to take a gamble on the matter. A ballista was just an enlarged crossbow, after all…how hard could it be to figure out?

Tearing away from the group, she made a break for the upper levels of the roof. At the very least, her companions and the army had the Archdemon’s attention for now, so she didn’t have to worry about dodging its attacks on the way there.

When Manon reached the ballista, she paused for a moment, eyes scanning the device to try and figure out how it operated. She glanced back at the battle every so often to ensure her companions were faring well, trying to keep track of the situation as a whole. An array of spears sat in a rack beside the weapon, and for the most part, the ballista’s mechanisms appeared similar to a crossbow. However, the system for pulling the string taut was on a much larger scale. An enormous crank needed to be turned in order to utilize the weapon; she would need to use her whole body to ready a shot.

As daunting as it seemed, she somehow felt like she could manage it. She didn’t have many better options, after all. She rushed over to the crank, leaning into the large wooden wheel to get it to move. Gradually, it followed her will and with every rotation, the string came that much closer to her. Finally, when the weapon had been pulled taut, she was ready to fire. Working quickly, she grabbed one of the spears, loading it into the oversized crossbow. She turned her attention to the battle, trying to assess the situation. The dragon’s attention was still focused on the troops, so it seemed it would be safe to fire for the moment. She aimed it as carefully as it could, the device on which it sat moving a little too slow for comfort, before she took a deep breath and pulled the lever.

The spear was released at a fantastic speed, hurtling through the air before it landed deep in the Archdemon’s flesh. It let out a cry of pain, tossing its head into the air and raising its wings as it reared back.

It worked!

From the looks of it, though, a single spear would not be enough to take the beast down. Even with all its injuries, it continued to lash out at its enemies, releasing another stream of fiery breath upon them.

Manon worked as quickly as she could to load the next projectile, but as she was doing so, the Archdemon raised its head to the sky, releasing yet another shrill cry. At first, she had assumed it was just another noise in response to the fight, but when darkspawn began pouring out from the lower levels, she realized that it had summoned them.

She was forced to turn her attention away from the ballista, returning to the use of her regular crossbow to pick off as many darkspawn as she could. She had to keep them from interfering if the battle if possible, but more importantly, she could not allow them to overwhelm her while she operated the ballista. Bolts fired in rapid succession, and at one point, she had to begin resorting to the use of her more powerful bolts. Shrieks were counted among the darkspawn ranks, and if they even got close to her, it would be all over.

As the darkspawn continued to come, though, she realized there was going to be no end to them. The Archdemon could summon as many of them here as it wanted, for they followed it mindlessly. They would be here all day if she only focused on them, and to be honest, she was low on ammo as it was…

Trying to remain aware of her surroundings, Manon returned to the ballista, cranking it as quickly as was possible. None of this would matter if they couldn’t defeat the Archdemon. And the only way she could contribute was by operating the enormous war weapon.

The ballista was nearly there, but she could hear the chittering of darkspawn not far from her position. If she was going to act, she would need to act now.

Hurriedly, she pulled another spear from the rack, threw it into its designated slot, and spared but a moment to make sure the aim was accurate before pulling the lever. The spear shot through the air, and once again, met its mark in the flesh of the Archdemon. It released another shriek, stumbling back as it tried to recover from the hit. Blood was oozing down its side, from both of the wounds she’d managed to inflict on it. It seemed to be struggling to stand. That was good. With another hit from the ballista and the aid of the army, they should be able to take it down…

At the moment, however, she had much different things to worry about. The darkspawn she’d heard moments before had reached her, and it was only her quick reflexes that allowed her to dodge the swing of a hurlock’s axe. As swiftly as she could manage, she shot the creature through the chest before turning her attention to the other darkspawn. She fired bolts furiously, trying to keep up with the numerous threat that had her cornered.

They kept coming, one after another, but she took each of them down. When she reached into her quiver to pull out the next bolt, though, her heart fell into the pit of her stomach.

She was out.

Panicking, she did the only thing she could think of. She chucked her crossbow at the approaching hurlock, hoping it would buy her enough time to act. The darkspawn slashed through her weapon, turning it to a mess of shattered wood, but it had done its job. She had managed to grab a spear from the weapon’s rack, and after the moment of distraction her crossbow had created, she took the chance to plunge the spear into the darkspawn’s chest.

It wriggled and screeched, pinned to the ground as it was, but she had at least managed to incapacitate the threat. The wave of darkspawn had been eliminated and if she didn’t move fast, she wouldnt have much of a chance to reload the ballista.

She returned to the machine, intent on rotating the crank, but when she tried, the wheel would not budge. Concerned, she tried again, but the weapon only gave a creak of resistance. Maker, no…She must have accidentally damaged it when she’d hurriedly fired the last spear…The machine was jammed.

She was without a weapon, with a ballista that refused to operate, and standing in the middle of a darkspawn-infested battlefield. She couldn’t think of a worse situation if she tried.

Another cry could be heard from below and she turned her head sharply to follow it. A brave soldier had managed to get within range of the Archdemon, and though he had perished soon after, he had managed to gouge his blade into the dragon’s shoulder. Severely wounded and bleeding heavily, the dragon staggered on its feet, before plummeting to the ground. Most of the army hadn’t even noticed, they were too busy trying to keep the rest of the darkspawn at bay.

There was only one thing left to do. There was only one thing she _could_ do.

Heedless of the enemy around her, she grabbed a spear from the rack and ran blindly into the fray. One hit from a darkspawn’s blade and it would be over. She barely had any means to defend herself, but her options were limited.

A genlock ran into her path, and she responded by thrusting the spear into its abdomen. It did its job of eliminating the threat, but she was once again without a weapon. She continued running through the battle, determined the keep moving, when she spotted a sword that had lodged itself in a darkspawn corpse.

The Archdemon raised its head in her direction, a low growl rumbling in its throat, and she knew this was her only chance. Running straight ahead, she charged for the dragon, picking up the sword as she passed it. She clutched it tightly in her hands, her breathing heavy and uneven as she rushed forward.

This was crazy, she knew. But it had to be done. It was all she could do.

The Archdemon let out a massive roar, and its head dipped forward as if to strike at her, but at that same moment, she fell to her knees, skidding along the ground as the blade ripped into the dragon’s throat.

Blood spilled from the wound, raining down on her and the Archdemon released a pained cry before its head fell to the ground before her. Its eyes were dull and unmoving, but it was not dead just yet.

Panting heavily, she stared down at the massive creature, before raising the sword above her head. With a cry of fury, she plunged the blade into the beast’s head, ending its life once and for all.

The moment she struck, a stream of light shot from the wound, stretching up into the sky. A loud, humming noise filled her hearing and her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to block it out. The sound, the light…it was as if some otherworldly presence had encompassed her, trying to force its way into her mind. She wanted to vomit. The light practically blinded her in its intensity and her eardrums were in danger of bursting. The force threatened to overwhelm her and she twitched back and forth, but kept a firm grip on the sword. No matter what happened, she would see this through.

Then, when it felt as if she would finally shatter, the essence that had been trying to burrow within her shot across the courtyard, and in that same instant, the energy from the beam exploded into a burst of light, knocking her and those around her off their feet.

Her world went black moments after she hit the ground, but just before she lost consciousness, her thoughts drifted to Alistair. No matter what happened to her, she could rest easy knowing that he was safe.

\------

Alistair stared up at the sky, with Truffles whining at his side. It had been over an hour since the beam of light had appeared over Fort Drakon and the darkspawn ranks had dissolved. Aside from the traces of battle and fire damage that still remained, the city was much calmer now – at least on the outskirts where he was. Any darkspawn that hadn’t fled had been slaughtered by that point.

The Archdemon was defeated; he should be overjoyed. The fact that they’d managed to stop the Blight before it had truly begun was something of a miracle. And yet he remained apprehensive. There was no telling if Morrigan’s ritual actually worked, and with Manon’s fate unknown to him, all he could do was wait.

Truffles’ ears perked up then, and when the mabari’s head shot to the side, Alistair followed his gaze. Two figures were walking out of the city; he soon recognized them as the forms of Wynne and Shale. Trufles let out an excited bark, wagging his tail eagerly before bounding over to greet them. Wynne bent down to pet the dog, and Alistair was quick to follow, meeting them halfway. As he got closer, though, he found his feet slowly bringing him to a halt.

In Shale’s arms, he saw the limp form of Manon’s body and he felt the color drain from his face. No…It couldn’t be…

Wynne glanced up from the mabari, and taking note of Alistair’s grave expression, was quick to assuage his fears. “You can calm yourself,” she said gently. “She’s only unconscious.”

He let out a sigh of relief, gradually making his way closer to the pair. As he approached, sure enough, he noticed her chest slowly rising and falling, indicating that she yet lived. He couldn’t express how thankful he was that she’d come back to him in one piece. As insufferable as Morrigan’s reaction would be, he knew he would need to thank the mage for what she’d done.

It was then that he noticed the woman in question was not accompanying their group. He glanced behind them, trying to see if she was just delayed, before asking, “What happened to Morrigan?”

Wynne paused before giving a sigh. “She ran off sometime after the battle…I was too distracted by Manon’s welfare to notice her leave.”

He didn’t really know what to say to that. He should have expected as much, but it still left him feeling somewhat unsettled. “And what about you?” he questioned, turning to Shale. “You didn’t happen to see her, did you?”

“No,” they answered. “I confess I was also a bit preoccupied with concern for it…as ridiculous as that my sound. My attention was directed elsewhere.”

Alistair slowly shook his head, his attention directed at Manon’s sleeping face. She made a sound of discomfort and he let out a soft sigh. He couldn’t say he understood the witch’s motivations, and while he was uncertain what would become of this ritual, all that mattered at the moment was that he and Manon had survived.

Glancing up at Shale, he smiled and held out his arms. “I can take her off your hands now.”

Shale appeared slightly miffed and pulled Manon closer. “I think not. It appears ragged and exhausted and would merely drop the tiny elf. And then where would we be?”

Alistair’s smile dropped in favor of puzzlement and he raised a brow in a challenging manner. “I am _not_. I can carry her just fine, thank you.”

“I would rather not take my chances,” Shale answered stoically before proceeding to walk off. Alistair could only stare on in annoyed confusion before he heard Wynne let out an amused chuckle.

“Come now,” she said soothingly. “Let us regroup with Eamon. I imagine celebration is in order.”

Though his expression was still slightly disgruntled, he allowed himself to smile. The worst of it was over, and though it would take time for Ferelden to heal, they certainly deserved a chance to celebrate.

\------

It was several weeks before people began returning to the nation’s capital. Everyone pitched in to help with repair efforts, and although it would be a while before Ferelden completely recovered, most of the damage in Denerim had been dealt with. While the nation would remain scarred, it was something of a miracle that they had managed to defeat the Blight within less than a year.

Once the city’s inhabitants had returned and the streets had been made presentable again, a ceremony was called to hold the coronation of Ferelden’s new king, along with celebrating the country’s newest hero.

The entirety of the Fereldan court had been called to the palace, as well as several individuals who had made their victory possible. The throne room was packed full of people; they lined the sides of the room and filled the balconies to the brim. Not a single soul wanted to miss what was occurring here today.

Manon, Eamon, and Grand Cleric Elemena all stood beside the throne, awaiting the arrival of the king in question. Dressed in an elegant gown of deep blue with silver trimming, Manon couldn’t wash the happiness from her face. She had never worn anything so fancy before, and to be standing where she was, knowing what she was about to be witness to, she couldn’t help but feel honored to be here.

It wasn’t long before the doors leading into the chamber opened and everyone turned to get a glimpse of their new ruler. Alistair wore the golden set of armor previously owned by King Cailan. He had initially voted against the matter, but Eamon had insisted that it would be a good reminder to the people of where his roots were. And to be honest…Manon thought he wore it well. Though she was used to seeing him in heavy armor, there was something about the massive set of gleaming metal that made him appear that much more regal and important. It was likely going to be reduced to a ceremonial garb out of respect for the previous king, but Manon could appreciate the view while it lasted.

He made his way down the aisle, with the spectators letting out cheers of excitement as he passed. As he climbed the steps to the throne, the guards stood at attention, showing him their full respect. When he reached the dais, he took a knee before the Grand Cleric, lowering his head humbly.

She stepped before him, reading the chant aloud to make the blessing official before declaring him King of Ferelden. Eamon stepped forward, crown delicately perched between his hands, before carefully placing it atop Alistair’s head.

Slowly, Alistair rose to his feet, offering Manon a long, steady look before he turned to address the crowd. They had all erupted into cheers the moment he’d been crowned, their joyous cried echoing throughout the hall. Alistair lifted a hand in acknowledgment, which spurred a whole new slew of applause from his admirers.

Alistair waited, and gradually, their excitement began to peter out. When he felt he had their attention, he began to speak. “My friends,” he announced with a broad smile. “We are gathered to celebrate those responsible for our victory…Of those who stood against the darkspawn siege, there is one in particular who deserves…commendation.”

From her spot before the throne, Manon allowed herself to smile. She couldn’t help but feel a measure of pride upon hearing his words of praise.

“The one who led the final charge against the Archdemon remains with us still…an inspiration to all she saved that day,” he continued, his voice filled with joy and admiration.

At her cue, she stepped forward, taking her place beside Alistair on the stage as he spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Hero of Ferelden, the first Grey Warden to defeat the Blight since Garahel four centuries ago.”

As she lowered her head humbly, the crowd erupted into applause, cheering her name gleefully. When she returned her gaze to the King, she couldn’t wipe the look of happiness from her face.

“My friend, it is hard to imagine how you could have aided Ferelden more…I think it only appropriate that I return the favor,” he said with a grin. “Is there any boon that you might request of Ferelden’s King?” he asked, playfully raising a brow. “If it is within my power, I will grant it.”

With a good-natured smile of her own, Manon gave a bow of respect. “I only wish to remain by Your Majesty’s side, if you would permit me.”

“I believe that can be arranged.” His grin widened even further before he made a point of clearing his throat. Turning to the Grand Cleric, he began, “Grand Cleric Elemena, will you stand witness to this proclamation?”

The woman seemed mildly taken aback by this request, but answered with some hesitation, “I…suppose so, Your Majesty.”

Alistair took a few steps closer to Manon, all eyes trained on him. No one was quite certain what he was up to and confusion wafted throughout the air. When he approached her, he gently took her hands in his, offering a warm smile.

“Do you swear to the Maker to remain loyal to the crown; to offer guidance and wisdom in the years to come?”

The corners of her mouth perked up slightly. “I do.”

“Will you remain by my side, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live?”

Her smile turned into a broad grin and she gave an affirmative nod. “I will.”

“Then,” he said, as he moved to pull a ring from his garb, “by the power vested in me, I grant you the official seal of the Theirin family; as proof of your alignment with the crown.”

The ring itself was very much a signet ring; it had no gemstone and bore no resemblance to a wedding ring. Yet even so, the entire hall had gone deathly quiet. No one could quite believe what was happening before their eyes. Though he was not explicitly stating it, he was all but declaring Manon to be his wife. By announcing it in the presence of the entire Ferelden court, he was sending a clear message that he had no interest in taking any suitors. Whether the message was received however, remained to be seen.

He bestowed the ring upon her before meeting her gaze. His eyes danced with mirth as he proclaimed, “Without any further ado, I hereby pronounce you Chancellor of Ferelden, to serve as my advisor in the years to come. May the Maker smile on you, my friend.”

“And you as well, your Majesty,” Manon replied, beaming at him.

The King gave her hand a comforting squeeze before the pair turned to face the crowd. “Let it also be known that the arling of Amaranthine, once the land of Arl Howe, is now granted to the Grey Wardens. There, they can rebuild, following the example of those who went before them.” His decision seemed to be met with approval, as the awkward tension of his previous announcement soon began to dissipate. With a gleeful smile, he declared, “But those are matters for another day! Today, we celebrate!”

Any hesitation that the nobility had shown moments before was now gone entirely, and his words were met with a cry of joy. With his speech completed, the ceremonial aspect of the event had come to an end, and thus the people gathered began to mingle.

Grinning impishly, Alistair turned to Manon. “So…we made it. I’m impressed, aren’t you?”

“I’m more impressed that the nobility didn’t dethrone you after that performance of yours,” she said with a laugh. “I mean, did you see Eamon’s face? I’ve never seen him so scandalized.”

“Just a little warm-up for things to come,” he chuckled. “I’ve got to let them know early on that I intend to do what I want, or else they’ll just walk all over me.”

She gave a chuckle of her own before growing quiet. There was a small moment of silence before Alistair took a step closer, mindful of the eyes upon them. “I was so scared I might lose you…” he mumbled at a low volume, his gaze incredibly tender. “But…here you are. And here I am.” A gentle smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Not bad, right?”

She shook her head, meeting his gaze with earnest. “It was everything I could hope for,” she murmured happily.

He smiled at her softly, another moment of silence settling between them. “I guess Morrigan was telling the truth after all. About the…ritual…” His mouth settled into a thin line before he continued. “The rest of the Grey Wardens haven’t arrived yet from Orlais, but they’ve already sent…questions…”

“Well,” Manon said with a small chuckle. “I don’t think telling them the truth would be particularly beneficial in this situation…They’d think us mad, if not worse…”

“You’re definitely right on that account.” He echoed her laughter before adding, “No, I suppose I’ll just shrug and look stupid. It’s a talent.”

She gave another laugh, gazing up at him warmly.

“Speaking of Morrigan, do you know where she went? I’m told she vanished right after the battle. No goodbyes or anything.”

Manon let out a small sigh. “I don’t know. She said she doesn’t want to be followed…”

Alistair gave his own sigh before answering. “I’m just concerned about what that ritual is going to cost eventually…” He shook his head briefly, and his gaze softened as his attention focused on her once more. “At any rate, I can’t wait to be alone with you. These formal affairs drive me _insane_.”

Smiling in a teasing manner, Manon said, “Well, better get used to them. They’re going to be a regular occurrence for us for the foreseeable future.”

He sighed again, though he still wore a smile. “Tell me about it…” His grin broadened as he spoke, his voice lowering to an intimate volume, “The way I see it, it will be tolerable as long as I have you.”

A warm blush began to heat up her cheeks and she averted her gaze to the side. Even after all the time they’d spent together, his comments still managed to make her lose her composure.

“I’ll let you get to your adoring public,” he continued, a measure of laughter in his voice. “They want to see the Hero of Ferelden, and who am I to keep them waiting?”

She gave a chuckle of her own, her eyes meeting his briefly before bidding him farewell. She planned to follow him up on his advice, but for the moment, she had other things in mind. Her companions, save Morrigan, had all been invited to the ceremony, and her family was present as well. She took as much time as she could to speak to all of them.

Her father was incredibly emotional, seemingly unable to fully express how proud he was of her. Shianni echoed his sentiments, and it seemed like Soris did as well, but he was too busy tearing up to explicitly state it.

After speaking with her companions, it seemed like they were all going to go off on their own. Shale had stated a desire to return to their dwarven form, a decision which, although unexpected, Manon supported fully. Wynne planned to accompany the golem to Tevinter, believing that it there was anywhere they could accomplish such a thing, it would be there.

Oghren, much to Manon’s surprise, was not planning to return to Orzammar, at least not any time soon. For the time being, it seemed like he was going to look up an old friend of his; a dwarven woman named Felsi. It had taken some encouragement from Manon before he could be convinced, but he seemed more confident about the idea and spoke of it adamantly.

Truffles, obviously, would remain by her side. He was likely going to end up as a spoiled palace dog, engorging himself on dog treats all day, but to be honest, he more than deserved it. He’d done his own part to defeat the Blight, and had certainly earned a life of luxury.

With the pleasantries out of the way, Manon decided it was time to see to the “adoring public” that Alistair had spoken of. As she approached the door, one of the guards gave a salute of respect. “Are you ready, my lady? The crowds outside are getting restless.”

“Restless?” Manon asked with mild apprehension. “What exactly am I supposed to do?”

“Just put on an appearance, or so I understand it,” he said with a comforting smile. “The people just want to see their hero in person. I’m supposed to take you to your escort: full brigade, their armor all shined up and everything. They’re really honored to be guarding you, let me tell you.”

Manon’s eyes welled up with emotion upon hearing his words. It was enough of a surprise for the people of Ferelden to be honoring her in such a way, and though she was nervous, she was very much looking forward to greeting them. Somehow, though, it was even more remarkable to see that admiration extend to the royal guard. She’d never thought she’d be in such a position, but she was incredibly grateful for them to think so highly of her. Perhaps things were looking up, after all.

“Very well,” she said with a polite smile, working to belay her nervousness. “Take me to them.”

“Right. I’ll take you there now. Follow me,” he responded, punctuating his words with a nod of respect.

As she stood before the doors to the chamber, waiting for the guards to open it, she allowed herself to reflect on everything that had brought her to this moment. Less than a year ago, she had been fretting about an arranged marriage, on the brink of starvation, and now she was held up as the Hero of Ferelden, with a lover in the form of the nation’s King. She could hardly think of a better “rags to riches” story if she tried. And as wonderful as her new position was, what truly warmed her heart was the friends she had made along the way.

Though most of them would be parting ways now, she would always remember the times they’d spent together, in between everything else. She had overcome many trials by their side, and they had given her the strength to grow in her own way. The future was unknown to her, yes, but if there was anything she’d learned these past few months, it was that nothing was insurmountable…particularly when Alistair was by her side.

The guards turned to her expectantly, signaling they were ready whenever she was.

She took a moment to calm herself before giving a small nod of approval. No matter what she faced on the other side, she would be ready. They leaned against the wooden door, light filtering in as it slowly creaked open.

Looking ahead, she took a deep breath…

And stepped outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally reached the end of the journey. I want to thank everyone who has stuck with me for so long (and those of you who’ve showed up along the way). I’ve said it before, but this story was originally just a self-indulgent project and I had no idea what to expect from it. I didn’t imagine I’d gain much of a following, if any, but to know that people have enjoyed reading about my child just makes me so very happy and I want to thank each and every one of you so much!!!
> 
> This past year or so has been such a wild ride. I ended up learning so much about writing, and while I’ve taken some shortcuts and haven’t always used those tricks when it comes to this particular story, I definitely plan to use that knowledge in my future works.
> 
> Speaking of which, this is by no means the end of Manon’s story. I have a few extra drabbles as well as a sequel series planned for her. The sequel ("The Littlest Chancellor") will detail her search for a cure to the taint, and because I’ll have to do a lot of research and writing from scratch, I can’t say for certain when I’ll start posting anything about it…But just know that it’s coming!
> 
> Once again, thank you all for everything! For every kudos, every like, every comment (no matter how far and few between). I appreciate any support I get and I’m so glad this story met such a positive response. I love you all so much and am incredibly grateful you’ve all stuck around this long.
> 
> Thank you again, and I’ll see you in the next one! :)


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